Uninvited
by muse of monotony
Summary: Following an escaped Death Eater brings Harry 20 years into the past. As Harry searches for him inside Hogwarts, Harry learns just how the world he lives in came to be and what it still has left for him. HD Slash. Chapter 5 and Interlude Added!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter? Yeah, don't own. All you lovely people who are reaping the profits of your labor, please continue. I'll just sit here… penniless….

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, James/Lily. Any others will be noted in later chapters.

**Summary:** Following an escaped Death Eater brings Harry 20 years into the past. As Harry searches for him inside Hogwarts, Harry learns just how the world he lives in came to be- and what it still has left for him.

_Like any uncharted territory  
I must seem greatly intriguing  
You speak of my love like  
You have experienced love like mine before  
But this is not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight_

_Alanis Morissette, Uninvited_

"What makes the Dark Arts dangerous?"

There was a consensus of fidgeting, chorused by snickering in the far right of the dimly lit room. It was the first class of the day, double Defense Against the Dark Arts with the sixth year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Harry resisted the itch to make a fuss- he really didn't like people not paying attention. But it wouldn't do to get upset on the first day, even if the transgressors _were_ Slytherins.

After waiting for a response, and not receiving any, he continued, "You become dizzy, your breathing becomes shallow and it takes all the blood in your body to keep your heart moving. You become pale. Hands sweat. Your body shakes. Your tongue becomes cotton in your mouth as your lips become dry and cracked. Your voice sticks in your throat. Why?"

He paced the room slowly as he spoke, connecting gazes with any student who didn't have their head hanging towards the floor. The snickers in the back became snorts, along with one laugh reminisce of a dog barking. Harry ignored them with effort.

Timidly, a red haired Gryffindor girl with entrancing, and familiar, green eyes raised a pale hand. Harry noticed a delicate silver bracelet on her thin wrist. He tried not to stare too longingly at the petite girl who had spoken up, internally proud that she was the one to break the awkwardness.

"Hate. The caster must be able to dehumanize the person they are casting the spell on." Her voice was clear, with a hint of apprehension. She fidgeted with the silver bracelet, unsure if the answer was correct but hoping to please the new professor.

Harry smiled sincerely, something he hadn't been prone to do in a while. Something blossomed in his chest at her voice. He hoped his expression didn't give him away.

"Very well said, Miss Evans. Five points to Gryffindor. However, it is not the answer I was looking for. Yes, the caster must use hate to dehumanize the victim of the spell, but what makes the Dark Arts so dangerous to the victim?"

Silence. Harry stopped in the middle of the classroom, black robes settling before his voice rang through the room like cracking ice. His face became unreadable.

"Fear," he started, "It burrows deep in your chest, larvae becoming a sickening twist in your bowels, clenching your throat in your lungs as it pulls your mind with it. Even the most powerful of wizards are no match for her once she takes a hold. And that is why the Dark Arts are a force to be reckoned with. They ally themselves with fear." Many students couldn't contain the slight shiver at the new professors voice- it was cold. It had taken Harry years to get people to take him seriously. He found the right tone of voice with the right choice of words always did the trick. The snickering in the back had stopped. He finally had everyone's attention. Harry did his best to stop the smirk threatening to take over- Draco would never let him live it down.

Causing several students to jump, Harry made his way back to the front of the room, the back of his robes flickering behind him like a flame.

Once in the front of the classroom, he continued with what Harry hoped would be an enlightening lesson. "On that note, this year you will learn how to restrain it, use it. Controlling your inner demons is the basis of Defense Against the Dark Arts. In order to fully utilize any practical spells we learn in here, you must be able to contain your fear. Anything I teach you will otherwise be useless."

Internally, Harry was terrified himself, though he didn't care to admit it. Though he was posing as a tall, mouse-haired teacher in his twenties, thanks to a well-planned glamour charm, he still felt apprehension about making a fool of himself. Maybe it was that little need to be accepted that fluttered around his subconscious surfacing. By all means, up to his first real class he had felt confident in his new disguise, ready to make a name for himself- one that had no connections to one Harry Potter.

Especially because he wasn't born yet.

At the thought, Harry glanced to the left side of the room, where four familiar young men sat huddled over a small piece of parchment. He suppressed a chocked swallow as he stared at the almost exact replica of the face he found in the mirror every morning. He'd been trying not to relish the chance of seeing the Marauders live and well for the first time in years (and in some cases, ever) but the emotion seemed to have burrowed itself in his lungs.

Breaking from his reverie- quite literally as he shook his head, earning him questioning looks from the students- Harry returned his mind to the lesson at hand.

With a severe wave of his wand, the room went dark. Students yelped in surprise, shivering as the room suddenly dropped several degrees until they could feel their breath smoking in the air- though none of them could see it. The room now plunged into darkness, Harry muttered a quick spell in a breath, so quietly, only the students in the front heard it.

Something tingled at the back of Harry's mind, like cold fingers crawling through his thoughts, sifting through little nuances and uncertainties and pulling them into his consciousness. Stifling bile from rising in his throat, Harry battled with the imp, quelling it with slow meditation until it had calmed completely. That done Harry focused on the state of the classroom.

Spreading his aura over the room, Harry took in the emotions of each of his students. The spell was meant to bring fear and uncertainty bubbling to the forefront of the mind. It was a minor dark spell, used mostly for confusion and distraction for other things. The unfortunate side effect was that the caster themselves were also subjugated to the same state. Fortunately, Harry had used and been under the curse enough to know how to relieve it.

Some students had begun to panic- the harsh, fast beating of their hearts pounded in Harry's senses. He could hear some begin to hyperventilate. Others were containing the panic, with effort. A few seemed to have completely thrown off the curse- Harry hoped it was more due to skill than actual experience. With a little twinge of pride, Harry noticed Lily was one of the students containing the panic. Peter was one of the ones hyperventilating, Sirius containing it as best he could. James and Remus had overcome the effects completely.

Deciding the students were well enough acquainted with the spell now, Harry muttered the counter-curse and the room was washed with light. He blinked, the sudden light jerking him awake- he wasn't even aware he had begun to get sleepy. Harry blamed it on the anticipation of classes. He hadn't slept much the night before.

The room became a sea of conversation, some students glaring at him, put out by the lack of warning. A group of Slytherins in the back were smirking, finding the uproar amusing. Harry tried not to delve too much in the thought that they had all thrown off the curse. On the right, the Marauders were blinking back into reality, exchanging enigmatic glances Harry longed to understand. A few students sported a grey complexion, others were flushed. Clearing his throat, drawing attention back to himself, Harry began.

"As you can see, fear can be a great weapon. What you just experienced was only a minor dark spell, the _metus excito_. It's considered the basest form of mind control, as it doesn't influence any part of the mind, only drawing fourth already existing emotions."

Noticing the uncertain looks exchanged between some students, Harry continued, "I will be using many dark spells in this class, though nothing I feel you cannot handle. I _alone_ will be using dark spells, as I have been forbidden from teaching you any." He grimaced at that, showing his "respect" for the decision, "I felt it was the nature of Defense Against the Dark Arts to obtain practical experience, and so despite much disapproval from many of the staff and parents, you will gain familiarity blocking them, in addition to your bookwork, of course."

Harry glanced at the time. Class wasn't over for another hour, but by the look of the students, it didn't seem like it would be of any use keeping them any longer. He smiled apologetically at the class, hoping he hadn't done too much too soon.

"In order to control it, you must first understand your fear. That is where we will start in our next lesson. For homework, write three feet on one dark spell of your choosing, it's theory, uses, and how it relates to fear. Due next class, no excuses. I do not take late work."

Slightly baffled at the sudden end of the lesson- and groaning from such a large assignment on the first day- students slowly packed up quills and parchment, neither of which had been touched. The crowd slowly leaked out the door, sounds of conversation and laughter following.

Once most of the students had filed out, Harry was surprised to see the young Marauders lag behind. After a quick conversation and several nudges, it was Remus who slowly approached the new professor.

"Professor Cutter? May I have a word?"

Harry had been just about to sit down to relax in his seat for a few minutes before the 1st years lesson- he was dreading that particular one most of all. Slightly miffed at being interrupted from what he deemed a well earned rest- but more than a little excited to speak to the young werewolf- he turned what he hoped was a friendly smile to the young Remus.

"Is there anything I can help you with Lupin?"

Remus looked back at the now snickering boys before turning back to the DADA professor. Harry suddenly had a bad feeling.

Marauders snickering was probably not a good sign.

"Professor, I was curious where you learned the Dark Arts."

Surprised by the answer- and lack of the infamous Marauder pranks- Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Is there any particular reason you ask?"

Remus shook his head quickly, a slight brush crawling up his neck.

"No sir, I was just curious. Most professors won't dare touch the Dark Arts in Hogwarts. I know they teach some in other schools, but I've never heard of it being used _here_. That is to say, I'm not disapproving of your methods, but I found it unusual to have a teacher using them, especially on the first day and all…"

It took a second to realize Remus was babbling incoherently, and a few more to realize it was borne of nervousness. If he'd had a few more seconds, he would have realized it was probably a distraction for other activities, but by then, he was already colored purple and holding tightly to his chair, which had decided to start dancing.

Note to self: Marauders snickering is never a good sign.

Despite the situation, Harry couldn't hold back a heartfelt laugh. This would definitely be a good year.

Zane Lynton Cutter. That was the face he glimpsed throughout the day- in his reflection in the mirror, in his drink, in the windows. It was a handsome face, yes, but a hardened face. The gifts of youth still fresh, but growing old and stale.

It had taken Harry two weeks to respond to the name. The sound always seemed foreign, even on his own lips. But if the name was exotic, the face was disturbing. The glamour charm made him truly feel like another person. The hard nose cut through deep set unremarkable brown eyes. His hair was stringy, falling in waves along his cheeks.

He found it both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, he felt invincible. Professor Cutter was clever, easygoing, and powerful. Harry was young, nostalgic, and fragile. On the other hand, his words felt strange, even to him. The days spent planning for the mission ensured him a response for every question concerning his past, meticulously planned down to the rougher accent than he was used to. He felt out of his own skin, something Harry feared might drain him within the next year.

A year spent in another man's body was something both intimidating and welcoming for Harry, though he didn't care to admit the latter. Telling himself he needed to stay true to Harry, at least in private, he tried his best to remain as just Harry for as many hours as possible daily. Sleeping, eating, grading papers, making lesson plans, anything that could be done in his private quarters was done as himself. He couldn't afford to live the life of Professor Cutter and neglect Harry Potter. He couldn't afford to forget his own face.

It wasn't until the first night of his stay he couldn't lie to himself anymore.

Standing in front of the mirror in his private quarters, Harry felt like he'd hit a brick wall. The face staring back at him wasn't Zane Lynton Cutter, or Harry Potter. It was a face of a man who was growing old. Looking back, Harry slowly realized how much he had been avoiding mirrors since the end of the war. Somehow, he didn't want to recognize what he had become- standing in front of the oblong mirror in it's foreboding black frame, he suddenly wished he had left Harry Potter behind.

It was a strange notion to look at your own face and realize so much had changed since you'd seen yourself last. He was shocked to realize the face was unfamiliar and cold. His face was gaunter than he thought. Not in an ugly way, but it added strength to his otherwise feminine face. His cheekbones were high, his green eyes like emeralds set in gold. His complexion was fairer than he remembered- it used to seem so ruddy, especially in comparison to his pale haired lover. His face was as tan as his arms, except around his eyes, most likely from squinting in the sun. His raven hair fell like feathers on his forehead and against his cheeks. It had grown long, reaching to about his collar. It was as messy as ever, though the length made it look more like a mane than a bird's nest. He hadn't had a haircut in months, and had no intention to. His lips were full, more like a woman's than he cared to admit. Thin wrinkles had appeared at the corners of his mouth- whether from previous smiling or more recent frowning he wasn't sure.

And there, peeking from beneath the black of his mane, was what he wanted to avoid seeing. He wasn't sure he wanted to know if his scar had changed. It wasn't something he was willing to investigate just yet.

He furthered his exploration, fingers tracing the lines of his nose. It was delicate. As he grew older, he was told less and less of how much he resembled his father. Instead, he often heard how much his mother's blood was showing through. His mind wandered to the day when Molly Weasley had commented on this, and how Draco had referred to him as his wife shortly afterwards. The prick was lucky he was in love with him, or else he'd have had a shiner.

He didn't want to think of his lover. He sorely missed him, even after such a short time. The fact that his lover wouldn't miss him only made him envious. While Harry would be without Draco for a year, Draco wouldn't even have a chance to realize he was gone before he would reappear. He would come back at the exact second he had left the future.

The thought made his intestines lurch. After all they'd been through, he was reluctant to leave the newly formed relationship for any amount of time. It was fragile between the two. They had just gotten settled after the war when Dumbledore offered this mission to Harry. He was reluctant to accept. There was still so much more they had yet to do and learn about each other. The fact that he would have aged a year while Draco stayed the same only added to his uncertainty. But Draco would have none of it. He accepted the mission _for_ him- something that had earned the Slytherin a week on the sofa (though Harry was secretly grateful for his audacity.)

He remembered voicing his fears to his lover the night before he left. They were lying on the forest green sheets in Draco's room, minds still lost in afterglow. Harry had suddenly felt overwhelmed, and grabbed Draco's hand in a vice-like grip. His voice had constricted, and he could barely whisper as tears stung in his eyes- he blamed it on the physical exhaustion.

"I don't want to leave. I don't want to change. What if I come back and I'm a different person? I don't want to become anything else when I'm not next to you."

The Slytherin had snorted at that, eyes still closed, but his thumb gently rubbed the top of his hand. Harry chuckled, which came out more as a sob. He loved the man's antics.

He smirked. Harry couldn't see it with his face nestled under Draco's chin, but he could feel it. The smirk was soon accompanied by a playful drawl- something Harry would have found offensive before their relationship. "Really, Harry, you haven't changed one bit since I met you first year. What makes you think one year will change anything?"

They both knew it was a lie. Harry _had_ changed in the past few years. They both had. With the war approaching, it was time to grow up. In the midst of it, they had grown old.

Harry had let it go, nipping at the pale neck before him, and Draco had rolled on top of him in response. They had kissed, slowly, not intending to arouse, but caress. Sooth. Love. Something neither of them had much experience with, and enjoyed every moment of.

After a few minutes, it was Draco's turn to rest his head on Harry's' chest. Harry slowly drew his fingers up and down his lovers back, feather touches that sent shivers up Draco's spine. Harry's chest rose and fell, lulling him into pseudo sleep. He almost jumped when his lover inhaled deeply (but didn't, Malfoys don't jump) before speaking.

"What if I come back and you don't like who I've become?"

He knew it was a childish thing to say. But the fear was real. He didn't want to think about what could happen when he came back. They had been apart on missions before, but this was different. Such close contact with his future parents was bound to be the catalyst for change- to what, Harry didn't know.

Draco blinked awake, lashes tickling Harry's chest. Internally, he was afraid that Harry _would_ change, though not because he was afraid he wouldn't like what Harry would become. He was afraid Harry would realize what a mistake he'd made and leave _him_. The thought of it made his heart skip a beat. He looked up at his lover.

"You will always be Harry to me."

At the time, he had wished he were sure of that. Looking into the cold mirror, Harry suddenly wished he knew who exactly Harry was.

_I'm so glad to have you  
And I'm getting worse  
I'm so mad to love you  
And your evil curse_

_I've a plan to save you  
From my misery  
I'm a man too brave  
To follow history_

_Blindfold, Morcheeba_

**A/N**: Everyone hates these author's notes, I know. But bear with me; I'll make it short. This is my contribution to both the Harry/Draco fandom as well as my rendition of the Harry-Goes-Back-To-The-Past fics- though hopefully it's done fairly realistically (or at least semi-realistically.) If you like, please review, even if it's just a "Hi." It's great to know that people are actually reading!

**Revised Version:** Thank you so much to my wonderful beta, Beth, aka bandgeek2006. You're such a lifesaver!


	2. Nagging Little Thoughts

**Disclaimer:** The thing about fanfiction is its fan fiction. Go figure.

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, James/Lily. Any others will be noted in later chapters.

**Summary:** Following an escaped Death Eater brings Harry 20 years into the past. As Harry searches for him inside Hogwarts, Harry learns just how the world he lives in came to be- and what it still has left for him.

_Everything you think you know baby is wrong  
And everything you think you had baby is gone  
Certain things turn ugly when you think too hard  
And nagging little thoughts change into things you can't turn off  
Everything you think you know baby is wrong _

_It's all over but the crying  
Fade to black I'm sick of trying  
Said too much and now I'm done  
It's all over but the crying_

_It's All Over but the Crying, Garbage_

* * *

Lesson plan finished, Harry dropped the quill onto his spare parchment, watching uncaringly as the black ink dribbled onto the crisp cream. He frowned- it was taking up most of his time just trying to keep up his work as a professor. He had yet to get any leeway on the missing Death Eater. That thought worried Harry.

Harry stood, slowly, groaning as he felt each vertebrate fall into place until he was standing straight. Letting out a long breath, he arched his back, pulling his arms behind his head. He stifled a yawn- he had hoped to get some sort of direction on his mission tonight. Instead, he found himself refining lesson plans for the next week. At this rate, Harry was afraid he would get caught up in his duties as a professor and procrastinate on the real reason he was here.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered why he, of all people, was asked to go on this mission. Of all the possible choices, Harry had to be the most risk. He was a key factor in the burgeoning war, the son of two current students and godchild of another, as well as the one person any Death Eater would recognize. His connection with Voldemort himself didn't do him much good either. But Harry had faith in Dumbledore- as conniving as the Hogwarts Headmaster could be, he had good intentions. Harry just had to trust in him- something he'd been doing a lot the past few years.

Harry dropped back on the sofa, reluctant to start his trek towards the four-poster bed. He knew that once his head hit the pillow, the visions would start. Instead, he leaned over the plush arm, shuffling through some paperwork detailing the rules and regulations of his assignment. It seemed so clear on paper. Pose as a professor while keeping an eye out for the missing Death Eater. Harry knew it wouldn't be so easy. Everything always seemed as black and white on paper as the ink seemed against the parchment. If only things were so simple.

Eyes drooping, Harry reread the report on the break-in into the Department of Mysteries. Time-Turners were some of the most restricted magical objects by the Ministry- the fluidity of time would be endangered by the most mild of changes. Because of this, the smaller Time-Turners, capable of going back by the hour, were carefully bestowed on a select few. The larger Time-Turners, capable of going months, and even years, into the past were locked away- as much for the safety of the general public as protection against misuse. As Time-Turners were only capable of going back in time, misuse of a larger Time-Turner could be disastrous- the user could be stuck years in the past with no way to return. Because of this, when one of the larger Time-Turners was stolen from the Department of Mysteries, the Ministry was in turmoil. It took four months before any progress was made on the case.

It was found in a raid on the Malfoy Manor. Several Death Eaters, including Lucius himself, had escaped Azkaban. They had gathered in the dungeons in the Malfoy Manor- information that was leaked to the Order by one Draco Malfoy. Harry had been surprised the Death Eaters had taken such a risk as going somewhere as obvious as the Manor, but the situation was made even more puzzling at the Order's arrival. None of the convicted Death Eaters had resisted arrest- they had, in fact, willingly given their wands up to the Aurors surrounding them. So shocked were the Aurors by their surrender, no one had noticed Troy Nyle's escape until it was too late.

No one knew why he had used a Time-Turner to flee, or why he chose that particular point in time to retreat to. The Ministry kept strict watch over their Time-Turners since the beginning of the war- finding the time period and area Nyle traveled to was simply a matter of tracing the one he had stolen. As for the reason behind the time period, everything was left to speculation. The only certainty was that whatever Nyle's mission was Voldemort had given it to him personally before Voldemort's death.

The following days had been torture. After Lucius' arrest- the third time- Harry had spent hours calming Draco as he alternated between ranting his hate for his father and holding him as he wept over his betrayal to his only remaining kin. In the end, Lucius was sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. Harry held Draco's hand as that black abyss of a mouth slowly sucked the life out of his father- freeing and chaining them both for good. Draco had clutched his fingers so hard he had to take a bone-mending potion from Pomphrey. He'd never told him. After what he'd put Draco through, it seemed so trivial.

Come to think of it, after the war, a lot of things seemed trivial.

But not Draco. Harry's throat clenched. No matter what he began thinking about, it always came back to his pale-haired lover. Looking at the grandfather clock in his quarters, he was unconcerned to see it was well after three in the morning. His trouble in falling asleep was only rivaled by his inability to stay asleep. He was constantly plagued with nightmares, as he had been since first year. Six years later, they had only gotten worse. He had hoped that after Voldemort's death, the nightmares and the visions would have slowly trickled away. Instead, they'd doubled in the Dark Lord's absence. He felt as if some burden that had been shared between him and the Dark Lord had fallen solely on him upon his death.

There were a lot of things Harry thought- or at least hoped- would end at the downfall of Voldemort. Strangely, very little had changed. The stares, the fear, the pain, the loneliness, the self-doubt and loathing. Things he'd hoped would just trickle away had formed rapids that churned in his stomach. If it wasn't for the blonde, Harry didn't know where he would be right now.

Harry glanced back at the bed, eyelashes begging to rest on tan cheeks. Despite his bodies' complaints, he couldn't bear to get into the bed. While burrowing underneath a thick cocoon of cotton with Draco was bliss, lying in the hollow silk of the Hogwarts bed sheets alone was torture. The thought of soft, pale flesh sprawled over his chest made his throat constrict. The mental image of his blonde-haired beauty sweating under their covers didn't go unnoticed by certain parts of Harry's body. On the contrary, these particular areas were doing their best to get the raven-haired teenager's attention.

Harry didn't like to masturbate. It seemed so hollow- and yet in times like this, he always found his hand subconsciously moving between his legs. It had been so long since he'd needed this. It stung him to feel it again; the knowledge that what was to come was only a necessity, not a want. His body was taught and his mind wasn't following any set pattern. He needed to relax. He needed something familiar.

He lay back on the leather sofa, watching the white ceiling as he slowly opened the button of his jeans, unzipping them before pushing them down to his ankles. His hands found the waistband of his boxers, and they too were pushed down his legs. He didn't look towards his feet- he didn't want to think of his lovers' absence.

His hand felt cold along the skin of his cock. His fingers were slow, reluctant, yet relishing each shiver they sent up his spine. If he closed his eyes tightly, and touched himself just right, he could imagine it was Draco's hand holding him, fingertips barely touching in a sweet caress as they traveled up and down the length- but no, Draco's hands were softer, thinner. They were fire that licked his thighs. His hands were ice.

He didn't want this. But he did. He grasped the length roughly with his left hand, started a fast pace, wanting to finish. He found he couldn't relish the touches anymore- only the release. The touching only made him lose his nerve. He couldn't stop thinking of Draco.

His left hand reached down to his balls, grasping them tightly in time with the thrusting of his other hand. He bit his lip, images flashing through the black space before his eyes. Draco rubbing into him, thrusting with him. Draco's hot mouth around him. Draco as his muscles clenched around him. Draco, Draco, Draco- his name flashed before his eyes. He could smell him on his hands, his hair, imagined the plush sheets were his hands; his fingers sliding up his back. His left hand traveled lower, carefully touching his opening, slightly intimidated by what he had in mind.

His teeth found his lip and burned through the skin. Blood dripped along his lips- the coppery taste leaked down his throat. One rough, calloused finger caressed the skin before slowly sliding in. _Tight._ _So very tight_. He groaned, eyes clenched tightly, fending off that nothingness that threatened to spill over.

Flashes of blond tresses, soft in his fingers as he forced the head back, revealing that silky neck- muscles clenching around that same finger, _deliciously_- that tongue caressing him right _there_-

His right hand clenched harder, faster, Harry slowly easing another finger inside the puckered skin. It began to hurt, the skin stretching. It stung more than it ever had when Draco was doing it- the pain ripped up through his nerves. His right hand moved faster as Harry tried to ignore the pain. He moved his fingers faster, deeper inside of him, trying to find that one spot that made all the pain go away.

He could feel the sofa dip as someone slowly straddled him. The feel of skin along his own was almost too much. He thrust into himself faster as his right hand continued its grueling pace. And then another hand joined it, slowing it to a churning molasses that seemed to burrow into his chest.

The silken hand stilled his fingers that were practically tearing him apart from the inside out. They were pulled out, gently, and then pushed above his head. And then the hand around his cock was pushed over his head too, and the stranger, _Draco_, brought his bleeding lips up for a savage kiss. Tongues slick, caressing the roof of Harry's mouth, exploring the line of his teeth before trying to wrap itself around Harry's own tongue.

Draco's hands held the length of his cock now, still. Even without moving, Harry could barely stop himself from coming. He needed it, but he couldn't let it end yet. Whether real or a dream, he needed the other man for more than the touches- as amazing as they were.

But then Draco broke the kiss, the hand was moving, and Harry wouldn't have it any other way. The silken skin roughly grasped at him as if he were drowning, harshly pulling down all the way to the tip before flitting up the length- barely even touching him. Harry threw back his head, moaning his name with mouth opened wide. His words didn't make any sense anymore- he didn't care. As long as his voice told Draco how much he _needed_ this.

And then he was coming, all over his stomach and the black leather of the sofa, and for just one moment he could feel Draco inside of him- and he clenched around the one he wanted to wrap his arms around too tightly and never let go-

His eyes opened to the empty room. The waves of his orgasm crashed into him with the weight of his loneliness.

It wasn't Draco. Draco was in Dumbledore's office twenty years from now, waiting for him to return. He looked down at his hand, still clenched around his length. It was covered in the thick white slime- he never liked the sight of his own cum. It disgusted him. He could feel his other hand knuckle deep inside of him- somehow he'd added two more fingers without realizing it. A sharp pain centered on his tailbone and inched its way up his spine.

With a frown, he felt a hot liquid flowing down the hairs of his hand. He pulled them out, his frown deepening. Blood. He'd been too distracted to register the pain- now that he was coming off his orgasm, he could feel the distinct throbbing along his lower back.

Biting his lip, Harry set his head back. He would have to get a potion to heal himself later. For now, he was content to dwell in the pain. Eyes stinging, he let his thoughts stray back to the blonde who'd done this to him. At this rate, he doubted he'd even find Nyle before the year was over. Now in a thoroughly put out mood, Harry began to wonder if his supposed escape to Hogwarts was a ruse, and he was really reporting to the Dark Lord as he sat contemplating how to get into his boyfriend's pants upon his return.

* * *

The wardrobe crashed loudly on its side in the hollow room, causing the gathering students to jump. The wardrobe had sprung alive as the students had begun to filter in for class, and spent the following ten minutes dancing across the floor- barely avoiding several students who came too close. For some reason, James expected it to suddenly sprout legs. At least then there would be a reason for the rickety old wardrobe to be _moving_.

It had stopped its clumsy jig after tipping too far over to the right- falling onto its side. The last sound of its resistance to being cooped up in the musty classroom reverberated like a chime throughout the room. James mused on how good their new professor was at making a statement. He respected that- after all, wasn't that what all their pranks had been about? Of course, that meant all the more reason to show this new addition to the Hogwarts staff what a reputation the marauders had. Turning the older man purple and causing his chair to dance was amusing, but nowhere near the sophistication of the marauders usual pranks. It was so very first year. Remus was still angry about being conned into the role of the distraction. Normally, he wouldn't have dreamed of making Remus do such a role. James blamed it on the curse- if they hadn't been so caught off guard by the professors techniques, James was sure they could have come up with something much more brilliant. He made a note to himself to put the new DADA professor on top of his people-to-prank-list.

The chairs and desks were all pushed to the side, and said professor watched his students with an almost maniacal grin on his face. James had to suppress a snicker as he imagined the plain haired man suddenly cackling like a madman. He seemed way too excited about a bouncing wardrobe. For a student, bringing a rickety old wardrobe to life would be incredibly amusing. On a professor, it was almost disturbing.

Almost.

Satisfied that he had the students' attention, Harry stepped closer to the wardrobe, performing a quick levitation charm to bring the wardrobe back onto its base. This seemed to spur the dancing wardrobe on, as it began its racket with a vengeance, and Harry had to yell to be heard over the noise.

"As you can see, we will be using this session to work on the practical uses of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Does anyone have any guesses on what's in the wardrobe?"

He knew this was cheap. He hadn't wanted to do this lesson for the simple reason of being unoriginal, but Remus had been adamant. The werewolf had looked at him with a half smile; simply stating "that was the lesson that inspired me to teach."

Thinking on it, Harry wasn't sure who deserved credit for it. He learned it from Remus, and Remus learned it from him. Neither was sure who thought of it first- and that was how it would stay.

The familiar silence- minus the banging of the wardrobe- filled the classroom. Harry quickly lost his patience.

"This shouldn't be a hard question, you're all sixth years! You should know this by now."

The silence pursued, students blinking owlishly. Harry let out a heated sigh.

"Here's a hint. Many of you may have found one in a darker area of your home, perhaps a closet that hasn't been used often?"

It was Snape who raised his hand. Harry stared at the young Potions Master. This was his first time addressing him- he was wary of how it would turn out. His own first impression of the Potions Master in his first year had been disastrous. As much as he wanted to, he refused to make as bad an impression as Snape had on him.

"Yes, Mr. Snape?"

The git _smirked_. Harry wanted to strangle him.

"I do believe it is a boggart professor. Anyone who's lived in a magical home must know that." His nose flew at that- Harry could practical hear him adding on _any pureblood at least._ The thought made him want to lurch. There was always going to be a Malfoy at any point in Hogwarts. Ignoring the fact that he was currently involved with one.

"That is correct, Mr. Snape, 10 points to Slytherin. This wardrobe contains a boggart that was found in one of the old rooms in the dungeons. Usually boggarts are handled in Care of Magical Creatures, but I felt this corresponded with our current lesson. Rather than dispose of it, I felt it would be prudent for each student to encounter one. Essentially, you will be facing your fear." Harry paused to levitate the wardrobe again- it had strayed too close to the cowering students. He didn't want any injuries this early in the year.

"Some of you may think you fear nothing," he glanced at the marauders who were chuckling and staring pointedly at James, "We shall see about that."

"Next question, who knows why boggarts are considered dark creatures?"

Snape raised his hand, glaring back at the rest of the student body. Harry completely ignored him this time- he didn't want one person, Slytherin or not, answering every question. To Harry's surprise, it was Peter who raised his hand, arm shaking.

It had taken Harry every bit of restraint to stop from staring daggers at Peter Pettigrew upon the students' arrival. The hate he'd fostered for the man since his third year had nothing short of bloomed into full loathing for the rat. Seeing him young, loved, and _alive_ had been hard to handle, no matter how much he prepared for it.

After getting over his initial hatred, Harry had tried to separate the boy Peter from the man Pettigrew. The older man who Harry knew well was Pettigrew, a traitorous rat that deserved every bit of pain Harry had taken pleasure in inflicting on the man- though admitting it unnerved him. Peter, however, had yet to do wrong. He was innocent on all accounts, and didn't deserve to be treated as the criminal he would become.

It was hard, at first. Every time he saw the boy, he saw him standing over him in that dark graveyard, the Dark Lord's loyal servant. It infuriated him. All he had to do was one simple spell- he could even make it look like an accident. He would never betray his parents, Voldemort would never return, and Sirius would still be alive. He would have lived a life where he was loved. _If only things were so simple._

Bringing himself from his thoughts, he looked the young man in his eyes, hoping his own didn't betray him.

"Yes, Mr. Pettigrew?"

He said the name with more spite than he'd intended, judging from how the boy twitched. _Though that could just be how he is._

" Well, th-the boggarts they, well, they turn into whatever it is that you- er, well, the person that's opening the door, or whatever it is that they're doing, sometimes they're not behind a door, but anyways… ummm, yes, they turn into what the person fears the most, P-Professor Cutter, s-sir." He said all this quickly, as if he'd lose his nerve if he didn't. The words were so jumbled many of the students still seemed confused. The Slytherins, more specifically Snape and what Harry now referred to as his "minions," were snickering behind their hands. James and Sirius, standing behind Peter, seemed about ready to snicker themselves. Remus looked at him with a mix of pride and pity- a strange expression to witness.

Harry frowned, confused. This wasn't what Harry had imagined what Peter would be at all. He'd imagined arrogance, snide remarks, gloating, anything more loathsome than the red faced _embarrassment_ smeared across his face. It reminded him far too much of… well, himself. In the back of his mind, he had hoped Peter would do something wrong so he wouldn't feel guilty for that hatred that was still buried inside of him. Instead, he pitied him. And yet, Harry felt he could hate him for that.

Nevertheless, right now he was first and foremost a professor. Professors couldn't hate their students. Though his heart didn't feel up to it, he sent a pointed glare at the amused Slytherins before steeling his gaze to look at the young man.

"Yes, that's correct, Mr. Pettigrew. 10 points to Gryffindor. Boggarts are able to sense what our worst fears are, and bring it to life by transforming themselves." The snickering died down to whispers at this, and Peter looked less like a cherry.

A young Gryffindor, blond haired and timid, raised her hand and began to speak before Harry had a chance to call on her.

"Professor, other creatures can do something like that, but they're not considered _dark_ creatures. What's the difference?"

Harry smiled, slightly miffed at being interrupted, but continued. "Good question, Miss Abbott. Yes, some creatures will similarly transform or bring up memories of one's fears. However, boggarts don't just transform for their own protection. That is why they are considered dark creatures- they feed on fear. That is why they appear in dark places- cupboards, wardrobes of course, and, at times, the entire house itself can be occupied by a boggart. No one has ever seen a boggart's true form- some wonder if they have one at all. But back to today's lesson. Today, you will each come face to face with the boggart."

Harry didn't give the students a chance to react before he moved to the door of the wardrobe. The boggart seemed to have calmed a bit- something that would soon change. He was suddenly worried- this boggart was considerably more feisty than the one he had approached in third year. Then again, that _was_ third year. Sixth years were bound to be more advanced. He began to unlock the many bolts, calling instructions over his shoulder.

"The trick to defeating a boggart is very simple. Mr. Pettigrew, would you please step forward? We'd be honored if you would be the first to approach it."

Unlocking the last bolt with a sharp _click_, Harry turned back to the now paled boy. He was almost ashamed at the sick satisfaction at having the boy at his mercy. The wardrobe creaked open slowly. The class backed up, leaving the now shaking Peter isolated in front of the crowd.

He was trembling. His teeth clamped painfully over his bottom lip, chewing it until it became raw. Harry could practically see the sweat trailing down his forehead. His hair began to stick to his cheeks, his face becoming a sickly hue.

Looking at him, Harry suddenly wished he could close the door. He was in the cupboard under the stairs, staring terrified through the slits in the door, watching as lights flickered in the dark like fireflies. Dudley had told him monsters came out in the dark and ate little black-haired green-eyed boys. He had believed him.

Maybe Peter wasn't as different from him as he thought. Harry was disgusted with himself. These children had never seen war before- they were innocent. And yet, he was already passing judgment. He'd been doing exactly what he'd faulted others for doing his whole life- hating and worshiping Harry Potter and never trying to get close to just Harry.

Belatedly, he realized the boggart would be emerging any moment, and he'd yet to reveal the spell. He spoke clearly, making sure each student heard and understood.

"The trick is simple. As horrible as whatever may come out of this wardrobe may be, there is something funny in everything. You just have to find it." Harry smiled reassuringly at the young boy, something he strangely found easier to do.

"The word is _riddikulus_. I trust you can figure it out from there?" As the door came to a slow stop, now completely ajar, Peter himself seemed less inclined to believe he could do much more than whimper.

What appeared from the dark of the wardrobe shouldn't have surprised Harry. A long, thick, sleek serpent slowly slithered across the classroom floor, dust flitting into the air in its wake. In the back of his mind, something clicked. It approached the lone Peter leisurely, calculating.

Peter backed away, turning back to his friends for reassurance. Though James often found Peters inherent cowardice amusing at times, the boy was beyond afraid. He was _terrified_. He knew what his friend had to be thinking. It was just like before. And this time, he couldn't help him.

The snake raised its upper body skyward, long tongue tasting the air as it fixed its cold gaze on the young boy. Staring into those stone eyes, he couldn't keep his thoughts together.

_Grass, Snake, Tail, Teeth, Run, No! Keep away! Please, Remus! Sirius! James! Help!_

He froze, the snake swaying leisurely before him, playing with him. He could do no more than stare into those eyes, lulled into his fear.

Harry frowned. It was taking too long. He had overestimated him- something he never thought he'd say about the rat. Now that his pity had turned to frustration, he found himself associating Peter with Pettigrew again. This only annoyed him more. He raised his wand, ready to strike if the boggart got too close.

Peter couldn't steer his eyes away. The memory that had begun to fade re-emerged with frightening lucidity.

It had happened last year, a few weeks after they had mastered the spells to become animagi. They had been testing their abilities on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, Peter riding on Sirius' back as he chased after James- now a graceful stag. He'd been caught off guard as Sirius made a sharp turn, ducking behind James in a spontaneous game of tag. He'd fallen off into a thicket at the edge of the forest. He'd been stunned at first. When he came to, he saw it. The snake.

The same one that now towered over him. Only this time, he couldn't just change back to his human form if something went wrong. He _was_ human. He couldn't find anything funny about it- he was too busy being terrified.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Cutter slowly raise his wand. He was going to attack the boggart. He was going to save _him_. Just like everyone else always did. Just like Sirius had done. And then they would all laugh, at him. Just like they always did.

_Think, Peter, think. You can do this. They're always teasing you, making fun of you. If you ever want them to stop laughing at you, you have to show them you're not afraid. You're a Gryffindor. For once, act like it. _Peter looked away from the serpent, out towards the walls, glowing from the light reflected through the windows, searching for inspiration.

Harry took a step forward, ready to strike if the snake so much as moved. He hadn't really anticipated that a student wouldn't be able to figure out what he felt was such a simple spell. The words were on his lips when Peter finally raised his wand, arm shaking uncontrollably.

"_Riddikulus_!"

The words were barely out of his mouth before the magic hit the boggart. It looked as if an invisible giant had grabbed the snake by its head and tail. It lifted off the ground momentarily, twisting around in its assailants grasp as it was bent into a loop, before the head was pulled through. In the serpents place lay a living, struggling knot.

The class broke out in laughter, and the tension was shattered. Surprised, Peter turned towards the crowd of students. For the first time, they weren't laughing _at_ him. Walking towards the back of what was becoming a line, Peter grinned from ear to ear as the marauders patted him on the back.

Harry smiled, a real smile. Though he hadn't so much as even thought it aloud to himself, this was what he'd wanted to see. His father and his friends in their element, making other people laugh.

Up next came Remus, still smiling but looking a little worried. His apprehension proved he knew exactly what his boggart would become. Harry wondered exactly what about this lesson drove Remus to teach- by all means it should have done just the opposite. Being so close to having your condition as a dark creature revealed couldn't possibly be much of an eye-opening experience.

Whatever the other students had anticipated the boggart the turn into, they were clearly disappointed as it manifested into a silver, glowing globe. The other marauders paled slightly, fearing one of the students would comment. Most students just seemed confused- except for Snape. His expression was unreadable as he stored the information away for later use.

Remus seemed to steel himself, raising his wand and muttering the incantation. The moon changed into a silver balloon, flying around the room briefly before coming to a stop in front of the wardrobe again. Some Gryffindors snickered at the noise._ How childish_, Harry thought.

Slightly pale, but gathering his wits about him, Remus turned to face the class, meeting the gaze of his fellow marauders as he made his way to the back of the line.

The next student up, a Slytherin, raised her wand as what seemed to be a vampire walked her way. Saying the spell, she effectively removed all of its teeth. The vampire gaped for a few seconds, opening and closing its vacant mouth before the next student came forward.

The boggart quickly transformed, thousands of centipedes suddenly crawling along the classroom floor. The student, a lanky Gryffindor with a crooked nose, jumped back, almost bowling over another student. Catching himself, he too cast the spell, and the class grimaced as a giant fly swatter began slapping away at the insects- most found this more disgusting than amusing, as the mass of bugs made a sickening crunching sound as they were squashed.

The class learned quickly, student after student approaching the boggart. Each student had a different fear, each a different solution. Harry had never felt more proud- the students were gaining confidence.

And then it was Snape's turn. Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously. Remus had told Harry a few of the forms the boggart had taken in this lesson, but he had been unwilling to speak of Snape's in particular- it was something too personal. Harry just hoped it wasn't also something dangerous.

Snape's typical overconfident posture was absent, something that put Harry on his toes. He feigned apathy concerning the lesson, mouth stuck in his distinctive sneer- something he wore so often it almost seemed like it was chiseled in stone. But his eyes gave him away- they bore into the boggart with resignation, mixed with shame. The gloomy depths betrayed a wealth of trepidation and self-loathing. Of course, none of the students seemed to notice. Bitterly, Harry thought of all the times he'd had that same look in his own eyes- no one had seen it in him either. Maybe it took someone who felt the same pain to notice it.

The boggart began its transformation, and Harry held his breath. Standing in the middle of the room, Snape did the same. Slowly, a tall, raven-haired man emerged. His limbs were long, draped in black silk robes, held by a silver clip at his neck. His complexion was pale, his proud nose raised high. The similarities were uncanny. It was if an older Severus Snape stood in front of the class.

Except the eyes. The young Snape's eyes were spirited and proud, though a little cruel. They were the eyes of a bully, that was all. This mans eyes were cold- like stone. Those eyes looked about the room, eyeing each and every student before landing on the now frozen Snape.

He had always been taught control- a Snape was never to reveal his emotions. This became a moot point, however, when facing the very person who'd instituted this self-control on him. Whenever he saw that familiar face, the inner turmoil he'd suppressed for years always seemed to bubble over. It seeped into his eyes, face, hands, and posture. It all became prey to this sickening clench in his gut.

The man didn't even have to move and he was terrified.

He wasn't like those annoying Gryffindors. That had been what angered him most about the Gryffindor groupies- they were so disgustingly _optimistic_. Snape was a realist, something borne of a painful past and little hope for his future. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, had it good. They were smart, handsome, popular, and had little to worry of other than how to pull off their next childish prank. Yes, Snape was bitter. But then again, so would anyone else in his situation.

While being realistic had its ups, this situation was not one of them. No matter how hard he tried, Snape couldn't think of anything more than how right he was to fear this man. Slytherins were clever, self-preserving, and rational. All these traits made it impossible for him to find anything so serious amusing.

He couldn't concentrate with _him_ in front of him. He closed his eyes, willing him to go away. He wouldn't be made a fool in front of the entire class. He clenched his fists, hoping they couldn't see how much he was shaking.

He tried to think of a day when he had been able to laugh. The past few years had fostered harsh training in the Dark Arts, preparation for when he would take his place next to the young Dark Lord. Before that had been cold, lonely days where he fought for the attention- not affection, he couldn't remember ever feeling that in his life- of his parents. He reached into his memories; using a technique he'd learned in his legimency lessons to grab at one emotion, hoping the memory still existed.

He was three- the memory was barely intact, and what was left was very brief and fractured, but the emotion was unbroken. His fathers face seemed so young, wrinkles creasing his cheeks in an unchecked smile. It was strange to see him like this- his eyes were soft as he blew a red, latex muggle balloon up, making exaggerated gestures with his eyebrows as his son giggled at his antics.

Holding onto the memory in his mind like a lifeline, he raised his wand. His voice sounded out strong- though his eyes began to water.

"_Riddikulus_!"

The mans stance became warmer. A sweet smile blossomed on his sallow skin. His robes seemed looser, warmer, though they remained that shadowy black. His hair fell lightly on his face, framing eyes that reflected emotions he was terrified to delve into.

In his hand was a red balloon.

Snape backed away, refusing to meet those eyes again. For some reason, he was more afraid of this man standing before him than those familiar cold eyes he'd had before. He forced himself not to rush to the back of the line, refusing to meet the gazes of his fellow Slytherins. He'd never live this down- pretty soon rumors of him being an emotional sap would spread.

In the front of the line, Lily Evans held her wand softly between her fingers, the familiar willow under her fingers reassuring her. She wasn't sure what to expect- there were many things she feared, sure, but the thing she feared the most? She couldn't even guess.

Harry watched his future mother carefully. It was hard not to stare too often, and he was glad to have a reason to study her. He took the opportunity, memorizing every movement, her grace, the sway of her hair as she walked, how she bit her lip in nervousness. It was becoming harder and harder for him to be near her. It was an emotion he felt exclusively towards her. For some reason, he didn't feel this longing even for his father.

She approached the boggart carefully, her feet shifting beneath her. She felt a strange tingling in her mind- what she assumed was the boggart searching. Finally it stopped, and Lily began to panic, suddenly certain of what the boggart was about to do.

She raised her wand quickly to defend herself, hoping to catch it off guard before it fully transformed- too late. The fierce, greenish curse ripped through her, eyes darkening as the lids descended over the glossy haze.

Harry watched in horror as her body fell, debating whether to catch her or disarm the now enraged boggart. To Harry's relief, a student rushed towards the falling girl, leaving the boggart to Harry. He had two choices: risk the life of his students by attempting to fight the boggart from the side- leaving the students in the line of fire, or risk his secrets being revealed by approaching it himself from the front. _Not much of a choice, is it?_

It had been so long since Harry fought the boggart in third year, he wasn't even sure if the dementor would still be his worst fear. He had seen so much since then, been through so much. But Harry wasn't there to fight him. He needed to get it to submit so he could get it back into the wardrobe.

Standing in front of the fallen girl, Harry's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't had a chance to get a good look at what had been Lily's boggart- what he saw shocked him. The man stood tall, his stance strong. He was younger, harder to recognize before all the spells and charms that had left him barely human. But those eyes hadn't changed over the years, eyes he'd never thought he'd have to see again.

Voldemort.

If any of the students recognized the Dark Lord, they showed nothing. Before they had a chance to have a good look, as quickly as he had appeared, Voldemort faded into the muddled haze between the boggart's transformations. Getting his bearings, Harry prepared himself to fire the spell, hoping that whatever appeared wouldn't cause some emotional breakdown he'd been holding in for years- it wasn't the time or the place.

When the boggart had finished changing, confusion etched itself onto Harry's face. Green eyes stared perturbed at disgusted silver. That soft jaw, wisps of pale hair over that familiar light brow. Harry's jaw fell open, gaze falling over petal lips and that delicate nose that begged to be kissed. _Draco's nose_.

A crowd had formed around Lily, Gryffindors twittering around the fallen girl. In the background, Harry could feel eyes boring into the back of his head, falling on the figure before him. Paling, Harry hoped the figure of Draco wouldn't be mistaken for that of Lucius Malfoy.

He couldn't understand the boggart had transformed into Draco of all things. Or maybe he didn't want to. The only thing about Draco that remotely scared him was that the blonde might leave him someday. _Wait,_ Harry thought, _that's just it. I don't want him to leave._ The rosy lips of the boggart twisted into a sneer.

Its mouth opened to speak, the sneer never leaving. Harry didn't want to hear, didn't want to think of the words ever leaving his mouth. Quickly, desperately, Harry yelled the spell in the boggart's face, not waiting for the effects of the spell as he spelled it back into the wardrobe, bolting it tight.

Harry let go of the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in his lungs. The boggart had been taken care of, but Lily still remained unconscious- in what Harry realized was James' arms. A smile threatened to fall on his face- his father had been the one to catch his mother. He had admittedly been disappointed when he'd discovered the two hadn't gotten along very well as of yet. This new development gave him renewed hope.

"Please, give Miss Evans some room." Harry pushed through the crowd, kneeling next to his mother's prone form. He quickly checked his mothers' vitals before calming a bit. A quick spell confirmed she was only unconscious. He turned to James, who was now boring holes into him with his eyes, worried. "Mr. Potter, would you please take Miss Evans to the infirmary? Tell Madame Pomphrey she was attacked by the boggart. She should be fine, but it never hurts to be careful."

James nodded his head vigorously, ushering Sirius to him to help carry her out the classroom door. Satisfied they would be okay, Harry turned to the rest of the class.

"I'm afraid we will have to cut this lesson short. We will continue with the boggart for the beginning of the next lesson. Would everyone please turn your papers in to me. Additionally, you have another assignment. Two feet on your theories on what a boggart would transform to for a man with no fear, or what you believe the boggarts true form to be, if they have one at all. Due next class, and as always, no late papers will be accepted. That is all."

The students gathered their things as Harry stared at the now silent wardrobe, lost in thought. So much had been revealed to him- it would take a while to wrap himself around it all.

* * *

**A/N**: Damn. This took much longer than I thought it would. This chapter was originally over 9000 words, but then I broke it up into two chapters, the second of which will be a lot smaller. I'll be putting it up in the next few days. What do you guys think? Do you want more, smaller chapters, or fewer (and farther between) longer chapters? HBP is almost out! I'm not sure how much it will affect this story, I may decide to completely ignore it for the sake of the plot. We'll have to see- all depends on what JKR does!

Thank you to all my reviewers, _SuperChic, Wing-Zero-Deathscythe-Hell, A Mad Pheonix, C. Dumbledore, JK Hallin, Amene, Anon, ningchan, TrixRStrange, Cecilie, BitchOfDarkness, Missi, JJ, thrnbrooke, sbka, smurff, Ghonchi, a dragonbreath, thrnbrooke, Jade and romanticpuck (heyas babe!)_. You guys are awesome!

And lastly, response to questions:

_Wing-Zero-Deathscythe-Hell_: I actually don't know of any other H/D time travel fics, which is why I finally decided to make one. If anyone has read any, I'd be love to read 'em!

_A Mad Pheonix_: There will definitely be some back-story on how those two got together within the next few chapters. Can't tell ya more than that yet!

_C. Dumbledore_: Harry would be in his seventh year, the marauders in their sixth.

_Sbka_: Lucius _will_ be making an appearance later on, though I doubt it will be as large a part of the plot.

_Jade_: As of yet I'm not positive how long this will be, but there is a plot I'm going to be following- it won't be never-ending, that's for sure. Hope you guys stick around!

**B/N:** Hey everyone! This is muse of monotony's beta. She asked me if I wanted a beta's note and I eventually said yes. She's really cool. I only met her two weeks ago and she's already become one of the coolest people I know and a really great friend. She wanted me to put down some stuff about me so here's a short bio. My name is Beth. I'm 17. I live in Wisconsin, and yes, we do have Wal-Marts. Well, if you want to know more, just go to my profile. www. fanfiction. net / bandgeek2006 (delete the spaces) Go you snip! Have a great day!


	3. Another Perfect Day

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potternot mine. Should have got a patent! (bad, bad commercials)

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, James/Lily. Any others will be noted in later chapters.

**Summary:** Following an escaped Death Eater brings Harry 20 years into the past. As Harry searches for him inside Hogwarts, Harry learns just how the world he lives in came to be- and what it still has left for him.

_I'm holding on, waiting for your call  
It's simple but I can't explain this  
I'm sinking down, I feel like I could die  
I'm falling off I don't know why _

I still believe it when you say  
It's another perfect day  
Another perfect day  
I still believe it when you say  
It's another perfect day  
Another perfect day

_-Another Perfect Day, American Hi-Fi_

* * *

Of all the people Harry had expected to approach him, Severus Snape had been at the bottom of his list. While he had grown closer to the man in his own time, and despite empathy for the boy he had witnessed being humiliated by his own father, he still recognized trouble when he saw it. The young Potions Master was arrogant, snide, and cruel. How much of this was due to the marauders teasing as opposed to his personality, Harry wasn't sure, but he believed it no excuse. In his time Draco and himself had plenty of rows, and yet Harry still stayed true to himself through it all- despite flaring tempers.

And yet, there stood the familiar lanky posture and thin hair of the future Potions Master. His head was bent towards the floor, black tendrils splaying over his features. In the dim light of the now empty classroom, he seemed unnaturally pale. Looking carefully, he could see the boy's hands trembling- from nervousness, anger, or fear, he wasn't sure. Recognition bubbled in his mind, and Harry nearly snorted from the irony. In less than 20 years from now, the tables would be turned, and he, Harry, would be facing the fully-grown Snape in a similar manner. It was a little too strange to dwell on.

Clearing his throat, Harry tried to make contact with the young man. In failing, he attempted the more direct approach.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Snape?" The name felt unfamiliar on his throat- he was used to calling him either Professor in public, or Severus in private.

The young man seemed to become more nervous at this. His pale features flushed a slight pink. Slightly amused, Harry realized he'd never seen the Potions Master blush.

Seeming to gather his courage, he finally spoke, "Professor Cutter. I have a few questions about the lesson."

Harry strangely wasn't surprised. He had wanted to ask the Potions Master about the man the boggart turned into- who he assumed was his father. _If Snape's past is anything like Draco's, I could see why._ Guiltily, he realized he'd never delved much into it with the older Potions Master, though he seemed to know exactly how Harry had been raised. Come to think of it, he'd always avoided the subject…

"You said that… by recognizing our fears we could then work to overcome them."

Harry held his gaze. "Yes, I did say that."

His hands fidgeted with the hem of his robes. His voice continued, haughty- if a little shaky, "I noticed that in class you didn't go very much into how to do that, sir. And frankly, I feel if you are going to introduce a subject you should thoroughly examine all aspects of it."

He averted his gaze, eyes traveling to the windows where the sun was shining through. Harry subconsciously tapped his finger on his desk, lightly. This was delicate.

"I have a personal question for you, Mr. Snape. You need not answer if you're uncomfortable, I would understand. Does your coming to me have anything to do with the man the boggart turned into?"

His eyes were resigned, but his face turned ashen. He had known the DADA professor would ask him that, ever since he'd seen the perplexed look on his face when the boggart had changed. But knowing didn't make what he had to say any easier.

"I don't know that it's any of your business professor, but he was- _is_ my father."

He left it at that- he had no wish to delve into the complexities of his relationship with his father with his professor. As much as he wanted his help, there were some demons he wasn't yet ready to disturb.

Harry was torn. On one hand, this was his student, one who needed his help- though he hadn't used so many words. The fact that it was Snape's father the boggart had turned into suggested he was either abused, or resistant against his father's… loyalties. And then there was how he had initially said "was" instead of "is." If it had been a student from his own time, Harry would have jumped to his aid. But this was Snape. He knew how this would invariably end up. Was it worth the effort if he knew that no matter what he did, Snape would invariably give in to his fear and get the Dark Mark?

"Ah. I see. That does make matters difficult, does it not?"

Snape didn't reply, and Harry sighed. He was getting a little sick of people keeping things from him. He wouldn't let him get away with that- he was at least going to _ask_ for help if he wanted it.

"Well, Mr. Snape? What exactly are you asking?"

The next sentence sounded as if it was the hardest he'd spoken in his lifetime.

"I want you to teach me." His mouth twisted into a strange frown, the last word almost strangled through his vocal chords- as if he could barely stop himself from chocking on it. He seemed to debate on whether to stare at his feet, or meet his Professor's eyes. Deciding on the latter, he raised his chin, eyes daring the older man to defy them- and hoping beyond all hope that he wouldn't.

He held a cockiness he'd only seen rivaled in Draco, but carried a sadness that reminded Harry of himself. The combination was frightening. Not for the first time, and not for the last, Harry almost forgot this young man was the Death Eater spy of his own time.

"That is, of course, my job, Mr. Snape. If there are any questions you have, or any additional work you would like to participate in, you have only to ask."

Harry went over to his desk, which had been set in the far left corner for the lesson- signaling the end of the conversation. He carefully placed the students' essays on the top, moving quills and parchment as he did so. He watched Snape from the corner of his eye, intent on his reaction.

The young Potions Master's frown deepened, confused as to whether the Professor had completely understood his meaning or not. Either way, he would get nothing more from him today. He bowed his head slightly before making his way out the classroom door.

Harry grimaced at the closed door. He had just agreed to give Severus Snape private lessons. Severus Snape, who would soon become a follower of Voldemort.

* * *

He was back in his room, looking for his school robes. It had taken some convincing, but Harry had convinced Dumbledore to allow him to bring them for any additional undercover work- posing as a professor gave Harry power to snoop in most places, but being as recognizable of a figurehead as a professor often left him at a disadvantage. If seen by someone he didn't mean to be found by, it would be simple to trace him back as part of the staff. As an indiscernible student, it would be almost impossible. A student with his face didn't even exist in the Hogwarts records- yet. The only problem would be if he were caught by one of the staff or a prefect- he didn't want to explain himself to the Headmaster. If such an occasion occurred, he'd just have to do his best to disappear- and ideally, do a simple memory charm. If he was lucky, he might even be mistaken for James Potter. Though with the boys' reputation for trouble, he began to wonder how fortunate that would be.

Harry pried through the hangers in his closet, looking for the tell tale red and gold of his tie. Not finding it, he leafed through them again, this time, going slower, taking a long look at each one. He needed to get some leeway on his search for Nyle _tonight_. If he waited any longer he'd get behind. With a grimace, Harry gave up on the closet and started looking in his drawers.

He cursed the loss of his invisibility cloak. If only he'd been able to convince Dumbledore to let him take _that_ along, it would have made the whole spying occupation go much smoother. Some sputter about paradox from having identical items in the same time period pish posh had prevented him from bringing it. Without his cloak and the Marauder's Map, Harry felt naked. He'd never realized how much he relied on his 'inheritance.'

The drawers were practically empty- he still hadn't completely unpacked his bags. The clothes that had been privileged enough to be placed in his drawers were now sitting snugly in a pile on the floor, tossed aside as he began searching frantically. He couldn't have forgotten them!

Harry froze for a moment, fingers holding the cold handle of the last drawer. His eyebrows rose, staring foggily at the dark-stained wood. The marauders would finish their map this year. This was both good and bad. The good being he could steal the map- or more precisely, confiscate it- and use it for his own espionage. If Nyle was anywhere in Hogwarts, he would show up on the map. The bad: _he_ would show on the map. As _Harry Potter_.

He sat back on his heels, briefly wondering when he had gone down on his knees. He could charm the map to show him as Zane Cutter, but he'd have to be in possession of the map to do that- he'd never thought about looking into how the map worked, something he was quickly regretting. After charming it, he'd have to catch the boys in the act to confiscate it. He couldn't just steal the map without their knowledge- it would be too abrupt, and they would become suspicious. Besides that, he knew for a fact that it was originally confiscated, not stolen.

Anxious, and still not finding his uniform, he pushed the drawer closed. If he couldn't find his uniform, he'd have to steal one. Worried from his thoughts and lack of uniform, he resumed his search by looking through his brown leather suitcase. Over the years, he'd accumulated too much junk to fit into his trunk alone- something he'd never thought possible. He'd always had so few possessions in his youth- something Draco had quickly remedied.

Harry stopped his frantic search, dropping his arms to his sides with an exaggerated sigh. He slowly pulled the green and silver silk tie from his bag. He barely suppressed a half-smile. _Oh what the hell,_ he thought, as he let his smile bloom. His Slytherin lover had replaced all his Gryffindor ties and scarves with his trademark silver and green.

He was going to be eaten alive.

* * *

Draco paced in front of the fireplace. His chest felt hollow as his heart pumped a rapid rhythm. His brow creased, his hair brushing against his furrowed brow. It had been over two hours, and no sign of Harry. To say he was worried would be an understatement- he was frantic.

Time keys were similar in concept to portkeys- but rather than transport the carrier from one place to another, it took them to a preset time as well as place. Because of this, it was unthinkable that Harry would return at any time other than that which the time key was set to. Which was why he was so worried. Harry hadn't returned at the preset time- that meant he might not return at all.

He had to keep reminding himself it was unbecoming of a Malfoy to pull out his hair. Malfoys don't pace and whimper like dogs waiting for their walk. They yell and scream until they get their way.

Deciding this was a good plan, Draco changed directions, nearly stomping towards the Headmaster, who was sitting calmly at his desk. He brought his hands down hard on the mahogany desk, glass clanging from the force. Papers flitted lightly from of Draco's uncontrolled magic.

"Where is he? You said he'd be back by now. What the fuck went wrong!"

Dumbledore's lips pursed, slowly shaking his head at the young man's temper.

"I'm afraid I don't know, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco growled, hands grasping the side of the desk until the knuckles were white.

"How can you not know, you were _there_!"

Dumbledore sat with his fingers entwined, focused on some non-descript point in the room. The twinkle was gone- in its place was worry. When he spoke, his voice was slow, words carefully chosen.

"I do not believe Harry will be returning with the time key. He must have encountered a problem. Rather than send you back unnecessarily, I would like you to do some research concerning the time period before his return. If you would like, the Hogwarts records are free for you to use, as well as any information any students from that time may give you. Report back to me in a week. If Harry does not come back by then, and you find insufficient information of his whereabouts, I will arrange for another time key to be created. If he does return, you will be the first to know."

Speech finished, Dumbledore stood up from his seat. The conversation was over. Angered, Draco turned towards the door, giving the seat where he'd been waiting a hard push, feeling slightly better at the loud bang that resulted from its fall. He fitfully grabbed the door handle, throwing the door open before going through.

He had to find Harry.

* * *

**A/N:** Here's the second half of the previous chapter- this part was a _lot_ shorter. Thought of adding more, but it seemed like an appropriate place to stop. Plot twist!

The next chapter will be up… when I finish it, of course. Good HBP-ing everyone!


	4. Halfway to Anywhere

**Disclaimer:** Wish I got paid for witty disclaimers...

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, James/Lily. Any others will be noted in later chapters.

**Summary:** Following an escaped Death Eater brings Harry 20 years into the past. As Harry searches for him inside Hogwarts, Harry learns just how the world he lives in came to be- and what it still has left for him.

_I have dreamt of a place for you and I  
__No one knows who we are there  
__All I want is to give my life only to you  
__I've dreamt so long, I cannot dream anymore  
Let's run away, I'll take you there_

_We're leaving here tonight  
__There's no need to tell anyone  
__they'd only pull us down  
__So by the mornings light  
__We'll be half way to anywhere  
__Where no one needs a reason_

_-Evanescence, Anywhere_

* * *

He could hear a cockroach. He knew it was a cockroach- he couldn't say why, he just _knew_. No other pest in the world could sound as utterly disgusting as a cockroach could. Its miniscule legs scuttled across some nondescript surface, tapping away in the otherwise solemn room. He could just see it dashing quickly from under one parchment to the next, gripping to the shadows. But there, it stopped moving. 

The air was musty, damp and decaying parchment gathering dust and mold in piles inside boxes and balancing precariously on shelves. It seemed that whoever had been in charge of record keeping wasn't one for organization- or preservation. Between water damage, fading, and tearing, half the documents proved illegible.

Draco sifted through a mysteriously pungent pile, worrying his lip. The cockroach was moving again. It was distracting him from the job he didn't want to be doing anyway. It wasn't his kind of job- he sent other people to do menial, dirty tasks like this. Yet here he was, polished nails perched on long, pale fingers holding a dirtied, somewhat green roll of parchment next to a quickly shrinking candle.

And yet, he trusted no one else to do it. No one else would go over each document five times, checking for inconsistencies in numbers, handwriting, anything that would indicate that something was _off_. Who else would look at each word with a critical eye, committing its tone, slant, usage, everything from how the "i" was dotted to the curve of the "r" to memory, before slowly bringing his eyes to the next word- then proceeding to compare it to the previous one.

He was known to pay meticulous attention to detail. He prided himself on being thorough- or, as Harry called it, anal-retentive.

The cockroach resumed its quest. Draco was glad to hear it moving farther away, back into the murky gloom that encapsulated the rest of the room. He couldn't concentrate with the constant scratching of tiny feet.

Draco rubbed his blurring eyes, turning to the next roll. He'd been bent over documents in the cold room for hours, and it was starting to take its toll. _Maybe it's time to take a break_. His fingers subconsciously smoothed the somewhat wrinkled parchment. He looked down, the black ink unfurling underneath his fingers- he paused. He knew the handwriting anywhere- it was Harry's. Reading through quickly, he recognized it as his resume for the DADA position. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. It was reassuring to see some sign of Harry, no matter how miniscule. After pouring over document after document without finding anything remotely related to the raven-haired man, he'd become increasingly worried.

Of course, he had already known Harry was accepted for the DADA position, Dumbledore had told him that much. But still, it was calming to see the familiar, if slightly sloppy, handwriting.

Looking it over, Draco recognized the lies they'd put together for the name Zane Lynton Cutter. It was extravagant, taking into account all of Harry's strengths and giving them rhyme and reason. It was a good resume- it had to be. Laws dictated only the personnel in charge of timekeys be aware that a person had traveled back and fourth. It was a test to make sure Dumbledore picked Harry and no one else for the position. It helped that the present Dumbledore knew exactly what to write to make his past self take notice.

Taking the discovery as a good omen, Draco pushed the parchment to the side, deciding on finishing the last pile in the box before taking a break. The discovery gave him a new spurt of energy as he pulled the tie off the next parchment.

It was wrapped neatly, though the edges had been torn and worn over the years. The tears caught as he unrolled it, and after the first began to rip even more, he eased the rest open gently. Once at full length, Draco recognized it as one of the reports from the infirmary, dating the 16th of September.

There were three patients. The first was a second year that had been victim of a vomiting spell. He'd been there a total before fifteen minutes as Pomfrey cast the counter charm. After that was a victim of a classroom injury, Lily Evans.

Draco sat back in his chair. The class had been Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Classroom injuries were common when dealing with magic. Even if done right, magic was temperamental, especially for students who were by definition learning. It wasn't unusual to have injuries, even so early in the year. What _was_ strange was that it was a sixth year class. Draco glanced at the rest of the report. He relaxed at the reference to the boggart. _That explains it._

Boggarts were a touchy subject in lessons. Theory was always covered in classes, but lessons involving the use of boggarts were frowned upon for one reason- they were humiliating. Fainting spells were common, adding insult to injury. Though Draco was surprised that of all people, it was Lily Evans who had fainted. He'd have to remember to ask Harry what her boggart had been when he returned.

A sigh bubbled in his chest, and Draco tried his best to suppress it. It was becoming so hard to concentrate. His head fell to the desk cupped between his hands as he rubbed his fingers over his eyelids.

The thoughts he'd been holding at bay since starting his search wandered. First was the guilt. He'd made Harry go, pure and simple. The thought that he'd come to harm because of it weighed heavy on his mind. If something happened to Harry… he couldn't bear to think about it.

What bothered him the most was why Harry didn't come back. Was it against his will, or did he just want to stay? Harry wasn't a fool, he knew he'd be putting himself and everyone else involved under the ministry's wrath if he didn't return. It would have to be something drastic- being held against his will was on the top of the list.

But then there was something else. He knew it to be paranoia, but he couldn't stop it from surfacing. What if Harry found someone better?

He lifted his head, rubbing his eyes vigorously before quickly sorting the pages before him. He was being ridiculous. Harry wasn't that kind of guy. He pushed his thoughts aside as he plucked the next roll of parchment from the pile.

This one was surprisingly intact, though seemingly the source of the pungent smell. Unrolling it, Draco held his nose in distaste. It was the monthly inventory of potion ingredients for September of that year. One of the ingredients had been spilled over the surface, crusting yellow along the edges. Subconsciously Draco recognized the smell, but didn't delve too much into it- he wasn't sure he even wanted to know what it was.

The list was surprisingly short, scratchy handwriting barely legible. Draco frowned in frustration. The previous potions master must have been far less stringent than Snape. Between the spilled ingredients, handwriting, lack of detail and abundant use of nonsensical abbreviations, Draco concluded he- or she- had been downright sloppy, something Draco felt unbecoming in a profession centered on detail.

His eyes trailed over the numbers, before pausing. Quickly, Draco sorted through the papers he'd already looked through before coming up with another roll of parchment- the August inventory- which, he noticed, was in considerably more elegant script.

Holding the two in front of him, Draco looked between the August report and the September report- the records didn't add up. There were large quantities of ingredients unaccounted for- bicorn horn, boomslang skin, fluxweed, knotgrass, lacewing flies and leeches.

_The ingredients seem familiar._ Draco leaned back, racking his brain. He knew the potion, he just couldn't quite… _Of course. Those are the ingredients for polyjuice._ Draco frowned, glancing back at the inventories. The ingredients weren't just missing, they were missing in large quantities- much more than what was needed for a few doses.

_With all the ingredients missing, there had to have been an inquiry…_

Draco checked for any attached documents, flipping through the remaining pile when he found none. The search of the pile and those near it returned similar results. Frustrated, Draco looked back at the inventories. _There had to have been an inquiry, ingredients just don't go missing. _

Grabbing a spare scrap of parchment, Draco wrote down the missing quantities of each ingredient. He frowned, confused.

_What the hell? This would make enough polyjuice potion for a…_

_A year._

_Fuck._

* * *

Her eyes moved beneath her lids, trapped in the dance of her dreams. As he watched, he couldn't help feel he was somehow intruding, but he couldn't break his gaze. Her eyelashes moved ever so-slightly with each movement, and it was mesmerizing. 

After carrying her to the hospital wing, he'd made himself at home in one of the stiff wooden chairs. She was okay. He didn't think about the rapid beating of his heart at that.

Her fiery hair splayed across the pillow, her cheeks pink. The features had matured over the years, but it was still the same girl he'd liked since first year. He'd seen her through the train window as she'd said her goodbyes to who he assumed were her parents on the platform. Her hair was like a beacon in the crowd.

When she'd been placed in Gryffindor, he'd beamed at her as she sat down. Tentatively, she'd smiled back.

That was he last time she'd smiled at him. He'd met Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. They'd become the Marauders while Lily became the top of the class. They spent the last five years arguing- most subjects centered on her criticizing his maturity, him criticizing hers.

And yet, sometimes when they argued, he could swear he saw a shadow of a smile.

So he sat next to her bed, waiting for her to wake. Her mind had experienced something of a jolt, Madame Pomfrey had said. She needed time for it to recover before she would come to. The others had left long ago, snickering under their hands. His crush on the girl wasn't a secret, and the other marauders hadn't let him live it down.

He'd told himself he'd stay until she woke, but it was proving harder than he thought. At first he'd avoided staring at her, but found the white of the infirmary almost blinding. His gaze had wandered and found their way on her again- since then he couldn't turn his eyes away.

But even that became hard with time. His eyes drooped, but he refused to fall asleep. He wouldn't be caught drooling on the white sheets when Lily awoke- that would be far too embarrassing, even for him. Take that back, _especially_ for him. No, he didn't want her to wake up to his drool until they were married- which he was positive they would be._ This could be that arrogance thing Remus was telling me about…_

Her eyes fluttered so suddenly James wondered if it was him that was blinking. But then the green eyes slowly opened, and Lily was awake.

Her eyes focused on the ceiling first before traveling down the walls. They took in the bed next to hers before she turned to her other side- and came face to face with James Potter.

"P-Potter, what are…"

She closed her eyes, suddenly dizzy. She rubbed her temples- her head was throbbing. Her throat was dry and constricting over her words. The last thing she wanted was to deal with the argumentative James, as much as she was fond of him.

Noticing her discomfort, James rose from his seat, searching the room for Pomfrey.

"Hey, if you have a headache I could get you a pain potion."

Lily ran the words through her head a few moments before shaking her head.

"No, that's okay. Thank you though. I just need to take a few breaths."

James slowly sat back down in his seat, unsure what to do now that Lily was awake. They'd never spoken much alone, and the circumstances were making things twice as awkward. He looked down at his hands, waiting for Lily to make the first move. If she was in pain, chances were she would be twice as irritable as normal.

As she started rubbing her eyes, Lily slowly recalled the events leading to her current position. The professor, the boggart, and then… Lily groaned. She'd _fainted_.

"I can't believe I fainted... I'm such a coward. I can't believe it…"

The words were so soft James had to strain his ears to hear them. He frowned- he wanted to know who exactly the boggart had become. Whoever it had been had used an Unforgivable- the spell was impossible to miss, no others were like it. This would have to be done delicately.

"Lily… that man. Who was that?"

She didn't say anything for a long time, and James wondered if she had heard him at all, or if she had fallen asleep again. When she spoke it was cautious, her hands placed in her lap as her green eyes caught his.

"James… I don't know why I'm telling you any of this, but… You must promise not to tell anyone. Not even Sirius and Remus. Do you understand?"

He nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to but agreeing- if only to make sure those eyes stayed with his. She continued, face unreadable.

"Not so long ago, there was an attack on a Muggle town. It was just one of many, of course, by a man who must not be named. I was visiting some relatives for the holidays at the time- I'm muggle-born, you see. It was there that…"

She took in a deep, shuddering breath. Her eyes became distant.

"We were eating dinner when they attacked. They came through the door in black cloaks and white masks. They cast _immobilus_ on everyone before… Well, they didn't kill anyone, not in our home at least. It was a warning, I think. But…"

She looked away, and James missed her gaze immediately.

"My sister, Petunia. There was a struggle when some aurors appeared, and some of us got free. She and my aunt tried to run, but then _he_ was there. The aurors didn't stand a chance. Then, as my aunt and Petunia reached the door… He castthe Killing Curseat her. It missed Petunia, but my aunt…"

She blinked rapidly, her eye shining. James didn't say anything.

"Well, I'm alive, and so is my sister. The rest of the family who survived had their memory erased, except for my parents. Because I'm a witch, they decided not to, in case anything similar should happen in the future."

She looked down at her hands. "I'm such a coward."

Later James would wonder how his body got from the chair to sitting on the bed- he was positive he didn't give it permission to move. But he had, and before he knew it,his arms were around the girl he'd loved since first year.

* * *

The canopy towered menacingly over his head. The curtains were drawn around him, encasing him in red and gold. The sun bled through the fabric, creating a deep orange glow. It made the bed seem warmer, yet somehow more daunting. It was suffocating- but the only way to get his thoughts straight. 

There really had been nothing unusual about the fight, something that confused him. It was a few weeks since the students returned to Hogwarts, Harry starting his sixth year. As expected, sparks had flown between the Slytherins and Gryffindors, doubled after the previous year's events. Several students had been brought to the infirmary after only a few days. As the week progressed, the incidents became less frequent, but more dangerous. Fortunately, the tension hadn't gone unnoticed by the staff, who had begun to crack down on all students involved. Snape even started to punish the Slytherins, though grudgingly.

It was no surprise when Harry became the victim of the majority of the attacks- and neither was the fact they were mostly lead by Draco Malfoy. _I suppose he's not too happy about his father being in Azkaban._

It had started with insults, which then escalated to pushes, which resulted in fists and then rolling on the floor trying to get the upper hand. They'd beaten each other mercilessly until the teachers had shown up, giving them both a month's worth of detention. It had been a run of the mill fight, nothing spectacular and most definitely nothing to get upset over.

It just seemed… off.

When Malfoy had walked up to him, that was off. His voice as he yelled inflaming insults, that was off. The shove that pushed him a few steps back, that was off. The fist that connected with his cheek, that was off. It was just horribly _off_.

_I just don't get it, and I can't stop thinking about it._ Malfoy had always been a prick to Harry- it was a fact of life. So then why did the insults and fighting get to him so much?

His voice was somehow lower, without the airy sneer he'd associated with it. It wasn't too deep, just _deeper_. _That's strange_, Harry thought, _we're all past puberty_. _Why would his voice have changed?_

And his posture was different- it seemed a little lower. He'd always walked so high, Harry always fancied he'd fall backwards. But now, it was more subdued, more… normal.

And then there was his hands. Except, maybe those hadn't _changed_, he'd just never noticed how slender they were, pale skin that…

But he shouldn't be thinking about that. This was Malfoy- he shouldn't be thinking over all his features as if he… _As if I fancy the ferret._

That was a disturbing thought.

* * *

Lily was absent from the lesson. 

He shouldn't have been surprised. He shouldn't be feeling disappointed in her either. But he was. He had expected her to return with her head held high, eyes alight with resolve. Instead, she never set foot through the doorway. Harry was handed a note by Lori Jenkins with Madame Pomfrey's signature, declaring Lily unfit to participate in the lesson. This was a lie, he knew. She'd been fit enough for lessons that morning, after all.

For anyone else, Harry wouldn't have thought twice. She was a young girl whose family had been attacked by one of the strongest wizards of the age- she had everything to fear. He'd think her insane if she didn't. It was unfair of him to think less of her. But then, he feared Voldemort as well. And he'd defeated him despite that.

His thoughts heavy, he levitated the wardrobe from the back of the room. He'd been advised to start the next lesson and leave well enough alone, but Harry was adamant. Even though the fun had been taken out of the boggart lesson, he felt he needed to finish what he started. The students would just have to grin and bear it.

"Today we will continue with the boggart lesson. Everyone line up." Harry said, voice short and strained.

The class was considerably less eager this time around, students clumping towards the back. Remus watched the professor for a moment before joining the students- Cutter's strained voice hadn't gotten past him. Something about the man rubbed him the wrong way. Something was off.

And then there was the boggart. When Lily had fainted and the professor had stepped in front of her to fight the boggart, he hadn't defeated it, only pushed it back into the wardrobe. For someone who was forcing his students to face their fear and all that, he didn't seem to be living up to that standard himself. And then there was the man the boggart had become- who was he? He didn't look like Cutter whatsoever. He was familiar, but Remus just couldn't place who he reminded him of…

One thing was for sure, he couldn't be trusted.

When the class had settled, James stood at the front of the line, fixing his gaze at Harry. He raised his chin, mouth in a straight line across his face. This professor was a mystery, and had been the cause of much grief in a short amount of time. _That prank will have to be a good one._

Harry, noticing James' gaze, raised a questioning eyebrow in his direction. _I suppose he isn't very happy about what happened to Lily,_ Harry thought.

"Mr. Potter, you will be up first. Remember, the charm is _Ridikkulus_."

Harry turned to the wardrobe, flicking his wand silently. The door slowly creaked open, the only sound in the dimly lit room.

Despite the brave- and amused- face James was sporting, he'd rather be anywhere than standing in front of that boggart. Sure, he'd encountered a boggart before and knew how to do the spell correctly, but that wasn't the point. It made him all too vulnerable to have his worst fear on display for the whole class to see. James hated that- being caught out in front of others. He needed to be in control of what people thought of him. Trust Professor Cutter to do what could be the most embarrassing lesson ever conceived.

With a comical grin, and a slight swagger, he took his place in front of the boggart, steeling himself to think of anything more frightening than what he knew the boggart would become. With a bitter laugh, he thought _compared to Lily's fear, mine is nothing. And yet I'm barely standing here. _And yet, he felt he owed Lily to face the boggart. If that would make her see him, then that's what he would do.

A clawed foot was the first to appear, sliding across the floor as a dark shadow fell from the wardrobe- then the door slammed on its hinges, revealing the maw of a snarling dragon. The long tongue licked the air, teeth bright yellow against its dark scales.

James started to take a step back, before remembering the students behind him. He set his jaw, hand searching for the wand he forgot to have ready. The head moved forward, dragging the long, bony neck behind it. Another foot appeared from the black of the wardrobe- James took in a shuddering breath. It was _huge_. So huge, it almost looked like it wouldn't be able to…

James' lips tugged sideways. He raised his wand, hand still shaking, but this time with mirth.

"_Ridikkulus_!"

The dragon tried to pull forward, the wardrobe shaking at its efforts to pull its shoulders through the door. It slammed its clawed feet into the floor, hoping to gain the leverage to pull through, only resulting in rocking the wardrobe further. It began to snarl, saliva dripping from its great mouth as it shrieked in frustration.

James snickered at its efforts, looking over his shoulder at the rest of the class. Sirius was being held up by Remus, who was having his own trouble keeping alright. He looked over at Professor Cutter, who smiled broadly at him before directing him to the back of the line.

As he made his way back, James glanced towards the front, noting it was Sirius who was next. He silently prayed he wouldn't have any trouble.

After the mirth had left his mind, Sirius realized it was his turn. He frowned, becoming peeved. What the hell had the professor been thinking? Sure, the other DADA professors had brought in creatures for practice, but this was ridiculous. Boggarts weren't particularly rare or strong monsters, the only danger posed was humiliation- and there had been plenty of that. Internally he was angry that not only James- who, being one of the top students, by all means should have been able to defeat the boggart- but also Peter, the self-proclaimed coward had too. He knew it wouldn't be that simple for himself.

In the back of his mind, Sirius didn't want to know _what_ his greatest fear would be. Knowing would only mean he'd have to face it- and Sirius refused to admit he had any fears at all. Admitting it would open a can of worms he wished to stay closed.

And so he had no idea what to expect as he walked the few paces towards the boggart. He pushed a smile on his face, turning his gaze towards the professor. _You evil, evil bastard,_ he thought Somewhat satisfied at his internal declaration, he waited for the boggart to commence his humiliation.

The transformation was comparably anti-climactic. He had to blink for a moment before he realized it'd already finished. And there he stood- confused.

Her face was thinner than he remembered, not that he had ever paid much attention to her _face_. It was the voice that always kept your attention. Briefly he wondered why she wasn't screaming- which of course set it off.

"You ungrateful skank! How dare you associated with filthy Mudbloods and blood-traitors! YOU INSOLENT BRAT!"

Sirius grabbed at his ears, trying to push the words back out. But, as they always had, they found his mind quickly.

"You're nothing but a bastard and a traitor, we raised you with the best of everything and this is how you repay us! You INSOLENT, MUDBLOOD-LOVING FAG!"

He jerked back, closing his eyes as he waited for her to begin the hitting… but it never came. Peeking through his hands- he felt like such a child doing so- his eyes were met with the sight of Cutter's back.

Remus' eyes narrowed. Once it became obvious Sirius wouldn't be defeating the boggart, Professor Cutter stepped in front of him- too little, too late, he thought. He felt bad for Sirius. He was cowering behind his hands, unable to speak. Next to him, James looked mortified. James had been the only other one to ever have stepped foot in Sirius' home, though they all knew what it was like for the scraggly-haired young man. But it wasn't something he'd want the whole class to know.

The blond man had returned, smirking in their professor's direction. Looking down, Remus could see the man's hands shaking, the only reaction he could discern from his schooled features. _What a hypocrite_, he thought.

"Mr. Black, if you would go to the back of the line please." His voice broke as he spoke. Harry cursed internally. He swallowed, hoping his nervousness would go with it. It didn't.

He looked over his shoulder at the next student. It was a Slytherin, still staring in shock at the boggart. _Please, and if they couldn't guess_ that _about the Black family._ He turned to the student.

"Mr. Parkinson, will you please come to the front of the room so we may continue the lesson?"

The Slytherin's eyes moved back to Harry before scowling, but grudgingly walked to the front of the room.

The rest of the lesson went without a hitch. Rats, clowns, dogs, bats, fear after fear. By the time the last student made their way to the back of the room, and James was once again at the front of the line, the solemn air about the room had broken, replaced by a subdued mirth.

Harry smiled. For the most part, the students had everyday, run of the mill fears. It calmed his mind a bit to know that at least for a little while, these students who would be plunged into the war had been able to be normal teenagers.

With the exception of Snape, Sirius and his mother, he thought. How cruel fate could be.

Remus was staring at him again. Harry ignored it- he'd have to deal with that later.

"Wonderful job today, all of you. I'm very proud of your progress. This concludes the lesson on boggarts." He paused, making sure he had everyone's attention before continuing. "However, there is the issue of your papers. While the practical work you have done is stupendous, I'm afraid your written assignments are not up to par. If I were to grade them now, only a few of you would be receiving passing grades."

He waited for this to sink in, not missing the mutters and slurs. "This isn't History of Magic. This is Defense Against the Dark Arts. We center around the Dark Arts, which are always changing- and so defense against them is a fallible subject. As such, in order to properly defend, you must understand the theory and draw your own conclusions. What I received was a pile of book reports. If you want to pass this class, you must think for yourselves."

He went to his desk and jerked his wand in the direction of the students. The two piles of paper lying on his desk came to life, one parchment making their way to each student as he spoke.

"I want you all to rewrite both your papers- the one you turned in last lesson and the one you have for this one. Do it correctly this time. Due next class. Lesson dismissed."

He purposely missed the inappropriate gestures aimed his way.

The class filed out- he suppressed a smile at the crumpling of papers behind him as he fiddled with the remaining parchment on his desk. His eyes wandered out the window where the sun had just reached its zenith. The rumbling in his stomach reminded him of his skipping of breakfast- he'd woken up late. It was strange not having Draco to wake him up if he overslept.

He turned to the door, Draco still on his mind, and was surprised to see Remus standing a few feet away, eyes solemn.

"Not everyone defeated the boggart."

Harry blinked, looking between Sirius, Peter and James, who were standing behind Remus, supposing this was another set up. _Except they look just as confused as I am_, he thought. He looked back at the young werewolf, trying to understand.

"I'm well aware that Miss Evans and Mr. Black did not defeat the boggart, but their situation is different than the rest of the-"

"I'm not talking about them, sir."

Harry blinked, not understanding. _Best to let him explain, then_.

"Very well, Mr. Lupin. Who is it that hasn't defeated the boggart?"

Remus straightened- Harry noticed his hair was standing at all angles, probably from the full moon the past night. Yet he seemed to be handling it better than he remembered he had. Of course, he was younger now.

"You, sir. You have faced the boggart twice, but you have yet to defeat it yourself. Don't you think that's a little hypocritical of you? Why should you expect more of your students than you expect of yourself?"

Remus knew he was being out of line- he blamed it on the full moon. It was still heavy on his nerves. But still, the professor was being unreasonable. It felt wrong for a professor to be teaching a lesson on something he hadn't shown he could do himself.

Harry took a step towards Remus, hoping by sheer size alone he could intimidate the young man enough for his blatant lie to go unnoticed.

"Mr. Lupin, I'll have you know the safety of my students is first and foremost on my mind. If I was to take the time to defeat the boggart when Ms. Evans faced it, it may have attacked another student while my attention was focused on getting her to the hospital wing. As for today, I didn't feel it prudent to show my own skill facing the boggart- we had many students to get through in a short amount of time, and I wouldn't want to waste it showing off."

He took another step towards him- suddenly glad for his new height. He was sure if he was in his own body this tactic would have no effect on the boy- If he was even having one now.

Remus straightened to his full height, head raised toward his professor.

"Prove it. Defeat the boggart, right here, now."

Apparently he wasn't.

Harry shook his head, sighing in exasperation before returning to his desk.

"I will _not_ have a conversation on my ability as your professor, Mr. Lupin. I was hired by Dumbledore because he believed I was best suited for the job- that is all you need know. While I admire your bravery and willingness to question the abilities of your mentors, I must warn you my patience wears thin. You're barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Lupin."

He could see the anger radiating off the man- or maybe he couldn't, but by all means he should have. He could practically see his words in the wolf's eyes as he weighed his options.

Remus, deciding it was a losing battle, let out his breath and started towards the door. His shoulder jarred against Sirius as he passed, and Peter backed away. They exchanged a look as they headed out the door.

* * *

The mirror rippled as the figure passed- a ghastly black that flitted through the dungeon corridors. His hopes and dreams were muddled in his glee, leaving his reflection a dull murk that belied his keen awareness. 

It was easier than he thought it would be. It was pathetic how weak the professors were in this time- it was no wonder the potions master would soon be replaced. He brought the thick black bag in front of him, brushing his fingers across the leather strap subconsciously.

He walked to the left of the corridor, fingers feeling the cold stone. _It should be here somewhere_… His fingers encountered a small patch of warmth, which he pressed firmly with two fingers. Behind him, a cool breeze signaled the opening of dark hallway.

Holding up his wand after casting _lumos_, he made his way down the corridor. The contents of the bag at his side clinked together, echoing in the empty corridor.

Finally, he came about a dimly lit, damp room. To one side was a large painting, a large cobra slithering within the silver frame. Below it, a pool of robes covered a small, immobile figure.

Nyle dropped the bag to his side of the figure as he pulled the silver knife from its sheath.

* * *

"I just don't trust him, that's all," Remus said, head hanging low as he sat on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. Next to him, Peter was glaring at him as James and Sirius sat on the floor over a blank slip of parchment. Sirius suddenly jumped up, scowling at James. 

"God dammit, James, just let me fix this, alright?"

James glowered at him, picking the parchment back up.

"What the hell do you know? You're doing the charm wrong! If you keep going like that, we're going to have to start over!"

_Of course they didn't hear a word I said_, Remus thought. He picked up a couch pillow, slamming it angrily against the couch. _God, I'm like a five-year-old with a temper tantrum._

"Will you two listen!"

Slightly startled at their friend's outburst, James and Sirius watched Remus for a few seconds before Sirius spoke.

"What's got you in a tizzy? I mean, I agree with you that the guy's a bastard, but that's no reason to go all ballistic."

Remus concluded that was the most mature and well thought out logic to ever leave Sirius' mouth. Unfortunately, it wasn't the time or the place to be surprisingly rational- Remus wasn't.

"Look, don't you find this odd at _all_? He brings in a boggart and forces us all to face it, resulting in the _injury_ of a student, and he doesn't even face it himself! In fact he _refuses_! What the hell kind of teacher doesn't show he's capable of the exact thing he asks his students of?"

Remus looked at his friends, Sirius and James staring at his outburst, Peter looking about ready to burst.

"And think about it. We saw his boggart _twice_, and each time it was a blond-haired blue-eyed guy resembling Lucius Malfoy. Remember him? Long blond-hair, dark wizard. Does that say anything to you?"

James slowly looked at Sirius, before turning back to Remus.

"I'm sorry Rem, but I think you're getting a little out of hand with this. I mean sure, the boggart lesson seemed just a little… well, pointless, and I'm pretty pissed at him for doing that to Lily, but it's not that odd for him not to participate, none of the teachers do. You don't see them taking their own quizzes and tests, its irrelevant. And besides that, if his boggart really is Lucius Malfoy-"

"I said looks like him, not is him."

James sighed before continuing, "If he is _associated_ with Lucius Malfoy, wouldn't it make sense that he's his greatest _fear_? It's not like the boggart shows their greatest love or anything like that. I think you're making too much out of this, really. You're supposed to be the sensible one, you know."

James sat down on the couch, next to where Remus was now sulking. Sirius sat back down on the floor, waving his wand back and fourth as he focused on the parchment.

"I just don't trust him, okay?" Remus concluded, half-heartedly.

Surprisingly, it was Peter who replied- he had been bubbling to do so since the conversation started. His voice started out strong- surprising the rest of the marauders- but the force ebbed away until he was whispering as he finished.

"I don't see why you're being so critical of Professor Cutter. I think he's a great teacher, he- he helped a lot. I've never been able to do a lesson on the first go."

He dropped his eyes, not looking at Remus. Which was fine, because Remus was doing a spectacular job of not looking at him. James jumped up suddenly, surprising them all. He turned towards Remus, grinning.

"Well, if it would please you my dear Remus, perhaps we should plan an initiation for our wonderful Professor Cutter."

Remus stared at him as the word usage dawned on him. _A prank, huh?_ Normally it would be Remus to tell them to be reasonable, to think it through, and above all, don't get caught. But this time…

"That sounds splendid my dear James, what say you our dear Sirius?"

Sirius jumped up, waving the parchment in the air excitedly.

"Voila!"

James blinked. "That's not the right response, idiot!"

Sirius jumped over to James, smacking him on the head with the parchment. "No, dumbass, 'Voila!' as in, the map is done!"

* * *

**A/N:** Anal-Retentive- Indicating personality traits, such as meticulousness, avarice, and obstinacy, originating in habits, attitudes, or values associated with infantile pleasure in retention of feces. 

This update took too long, and isn't that great. So much going on right now! Hopefully the next update will be sooner, and better.

**B/N:** Bonjour everyone! I'm here to inform you that Muse and I have started a Yahoo group. Please feel free to join. You'll be able to know the minute a chapter is uploaded along with some other stuff we threw in to make your reading experience better (omg, I'm so retarded). The link is in my profile ( http/ www . fanfiction . net / bandgeek2006 (take out spaces)) at the bottom. Much thanks to our first real (and currently only) member, trampyvamp17. Much love! I'm the one who's been pressuring Muse to get the chapter written faster but I'm sure if you guys leave some wonderful reviews, she won't need my pressuring. :) Go U.N.I.C.I.P.! Ayez un jour splendide! (Have a splendid day!)


	5. Teardrops on the Fire

**Disclaimer:** If I had written Harry Potter, I wouldn't waste my creativity thinking up disclaimers, not would I?

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, James/Lily. Any others will be noted in later chapters.

**Summary:** Following an escaped Death Eater brings Harry 20 years into the past. As Harry searches for him inside Hogwarts, Harry learns just how the world he lives in came to be- and what it still has left for him.

_Love, love is a verb  
Love is a doing word  
Feathers on my breath  
Gentle impulsion  
Shakes me makes me lighter  
Feathers on my breath_

_Teardrop on the fire  
Feathers on my breath_

-Teardrop, Massive Attack

* * *

The sound of his footsteps seemed loud to his own ears. It flew down the halls, bouncing back as it met the corridor walls before making its way through the blackened passage. Shadows frothed where the lamps didn't reach, in descript sounds bubbling from their depths.

He hadn't had time to realize what a bad an idea this was. Even after tempering his patience to it's maximum, he still had a tendency to rush into some things. He had planned ahead enough to go out before curfew, but this led to other problems. It was to be expected he'd run into fellow students, sure, but that didn't necessarily mean he was ready to encounter a group of fourth year Hufflepuffs right off. Really, what were they doing in the dungeons to begin with? And here he was, unfortunate enough to be a suspicious looking Slytherin, alone. No use in complaining though. At least he'd managed to get by semi-unharmed.

He passed a flight of stairs that led down to the potions rooms, the muddy mess of footprints- a result of a light, cold rain- drying into dust, an arrow pointing to the more inhabited areas of the dungeons. His eyes traced the doorways leading back into the classrooms, debating his next move.

Throughout his years at Hogwarts, Harry was aware of two corridors that he'd never traveled. They didn't appear on the Marauders Map, and though they were always in plain sight, he'd never seen or heard of anyone- besides staff- walking through them. _There's probably a charm placed on them,_ he thought. _Most likely a combination of an illusionary spell and notice-me-not_. Whatever it was, whenever he came close to it with the intention of walking through, he became enamored with something else- the most embarrassing of which had been an apple core someone had discarded in the hallway- or simply couldn't remember how he arrived somewhere else.

Approaching the corridor, Harry reached into the robes for his wand, ready to cast a counter charm. He stepped closer, slowly, carefully, preparing himself for the effects of the spell, and hoping he could overcome whatever the staff had placed on it.

Closing his eyes, Harry latched onto the sound of his heart, drumming in his ears as the echo of his footprints slowly inched their way forward. He held his breath as the toe of his shoe felt along the ground.

After a few seconds of holding his breath, Harry peeked through his lashes, coming face to face with a broken statue, it's arm crumbled a few inches from it's feet. Confused, Harry looked around.

_That's odd. The charm is gone,_ Harry thought. _Could it be it hasn't been placed yet?_

The corridor felt damp, a sickly sweet aroma tickling at his nose. It smelled familiar, though Harry wasn't quite sure of the source. Holding his breath to clear the overwhelming odor from his nose for a moment, Harry brought his wand in front of him and cast a silent '_Lumos_.'

Squinting at the walls, Harry could make out a faint red. Taking a closer look, he could see cracks along them, what seemed to once have been a deep scarlet paint chipping from the unattended stone. He reached out and touched one particularly exposed spot, red crumbling under his fingertips and falling to the floor.

Moving on, Harry came across a thick, wooden door, forest green paint peeling from it in a similar fashion. When he touched it, the wood felt damp. He pulled his fingers away. They were wet. He brought them beneath his nose before wiping them on his robes in distaste. _Whatever this odor is, it's in the water. It's probably leaking through the walls,_ Harry thought. Curious, his hand slid to the handle, and opened the door.

The room was a mess- it's walls were gauged, exposing gray stone that stood out against the filthier surface stained and faded through the years. Desks and chairs were torn apart and strewn across the floor, some sporting black char marks.

Harry took a cautious step into the room, watching his feet in case of any traps. His shoes gathered cobwebs and dust as he went, white speckling his dark dress shoes. He paused, looking around at the broken furniture- in this light, it all seemed alive, limbs bent at awkward angles.

Cobwebs wound around the whole room, thick milky thread handing from every edge. This room hadn't -_couldn't_- have been touched for months. It was a dead end.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Harry turned back around, still watching his feet but with an air of annoyance. The thick strands clung to his clothes as he made his way out- though he didn't remember having _that_ much trouble getting in to the room, and surely he'd made something of a path the first time.

With a final jerking of his arm, freeing him from the few last limbs of the sticky web clinging to him, Harry left the room, pushing the door shut much harder than he should have- after all, it was approaching curfew, and any student, let alone a Slytherin, would look suspicious in this area.

The corridor lamps were just dimming when Harry made his way towards the next door. Harry continued unfazed- the lamps always dimmed in corridors that weren't often used after curfew.

He approached the next-door, shadows clambering over the stone and portraits of the dungeons, the air musty. It wasn't until his hand was feeling for the doorknob when the hairs began to rise on the back of his neck. He shivered, hands reaching to rub his arms when his skin began to crawl.

Or rather, something began to crawl along his skin.

The moment he felt a pinch his robes were off, thrown a few feet away and hanging from the shoulder of a suit of armor. He rubbed his hands along his arms, neck, back, and legs in a hurry, batting at the tiny spiders clutching at his skin, trying to get under his clothes. The sticky white web still clung to his arms, and the arachnids burrowed inside as he tried to pull it from his fingers.

Milk Spiders. And lots of them.

Harry fumbled in the dim lights, reaching for his robes- then pulling back as the beasts crawled up his fingers. Waving them about, he again reached for the robe, probing to find his wand. His fingers found the hard wood, gripping against the legs scratching against the hairs on his arms, bringing it up to his forehead. They were just reaching his mouth and eyes when-

"_Agitominus_!"

He was swallowed in ice as blue light crept over his skin, stunning the spiders as it went. Moving quickly, Harry shook the spiders from his clothes and robes, crunching them under his feet as he made his way back towards the previous room.

Milk spiders were known first and foremost for their ability to make webs at an accelerated speed- fifty of them could block a doorway within a minute. They were common in the dark forest, and other areas with little habitation. Which was why it was so strange to have to many not only in Hogwarts, but isolated in a single room.

_There must be a shield keeping them in that room_, Harry thought. _Which could mean one thing. Somebody was hiding something. _

Which led to a problem. Even if Harry were to take care of the spiders, and the webbing, it would still lead to the problem of finding out what was disturbed when. Some of the broken furniture had already significantly decayed- meaning not all the damage done in the room had been done by whoever had brought in the spiders. He needed to know who did what when, before he'd be willing to tamper with whatever magic was wrought in that room.

Harry tried to remember his training- while magic is foolproof in solving crimes in most cases, basic forensic science sometimes proved invaluable in fragile cases such as this. _There is one way, if I can manage it,_ Harry thought.

While milk spiders could easily recreate the thick webbing in the room overnight, dust takes much longer to settle- at least to any significant amount. The amount of dust atop each table or chair would determine which had been moved more recently. After that was determined, Nyles path- as Harry was now positive it _was_ Nyles who came in here- could be discovered, and with that, Harry could find out what exactly he wanted with the room.

He had to be as at tentative as possible, though. Having little information on Nyles meant Harry didn't know how cunning the man truly was- it would be possible to lead Harry on a wild goose chase by moving other tables and chairs he didn't necessarily need to move in order to keep him off his trail. He'd have to watch for a pattern in the movements.

He opened the door again, this time his wand at the ready, and cast _lumos_. His feet pushed their way through the thick webbing, and he raised his wand arm through the ceiling.

He could see them now. Hundreds of them, blistering from the webbing, crawling white pustules along the walls. _Thank God Ron isn't here,_ he thought.

* * *

"How about this one?" Peter exclaimed, walking down the hallway a few feet before looking back at his friends.

"Oh _please_," Sirius responded, "That's the corridor to Hufflepuff. We've been down that way a million times. Not exactly the most adventurous choice for our first addition to the map, now is it?"

Peter frowned, looking down at his feet briefly before reclaiming his place in the back of the group.

"Well, then you pick it." He said glumly.

Remus shook his head slowly, eyes traveling over the walls as they resumed their walk through the corridors. "Really, Sirius, it doesn't matter _where_ we start. By all means, we should have started the minute we left the common room. Hogwarts is big, and we don't have that much time to get it all on the map."

"We have years!" James said, moving between Sirius and Remus and throwing his arms around their necks. "Just think- we'll be the first ever to have an all-inclusive map of Hogwarts, including the whereabouts of all staff and students. Let's do it _right_."

Remus shrugged off James' arm, falling back next to Peter.

"We won't be the first to do so if we never actually _do it_. We haven't even started. Having the spells placed on the parchment was only the first step. I don't think you two actually realize how long this is going to take. And it doesn't matter how many years we have to make it, we want to be able to use it, don't we?"

Sirius rubbed his hands together, a grin breaking across his face.

"Now we're talking. Alright, I know where we should start. You know that corridor in the dungeons that Filch always guards? Let's go there. We may not be able to see the corridors on the map yet, but we can see if anyones close to us at the least."

James suddenly broke into a run, calling over his shoulder, "Last one there's a Cornish Pixie!"

With a whoop, Sirius ran after him, Remus and Peter grudgingly following his lead.

* * *

Draco dropped the slips parchment of parchment on the mohagony desk, hands clenched at his sides as he stared into the elder mans eyes.

"Stop playing me for a fool, Dumbledore. I won't have any of this runaround, not with someone's life at stake!"

Dumbledore straightened slowly, hands lightly sifting through the tattered parchment in an off-handed manor. After studying their contents, he raised his white brows before looking up at his former student.

"I know just as well as you how much danger Harry is in right now, Draco. And I assure you I- no, _everyone_, is doing all they can do to ensure his safe return."

Dumbledore tentatively stood, nursing his back as he walked toward a silver cupboard, engraved with a language Draco didn't recognize.

"Draco, my boy-"

Draco slammed his hands on the desk- a habit he'd been indulging himself with lately- and steeled his gaze at Dumbledore.

"I'm _not_ your boy, now tell me what's going on! What about these reports? You can't tell me they were never investigated, or the perpetrator found, or, well, anything!"

Dumbledore sighed, grisly hands rubbing his forehead as he pulled a key out of his pocket, unlocking the silver cupboard.

"Now now, Draco, all in good time. To tell you the truth, I had forgotten about the whole thing."

Draco stared incredulously at Dumbledore, fingers clenching the desk –most unbecoming of a Malfoy, not that at the moment he cared much.

"Forgotten? How could you have forgotten! There's enough ingredients here to brew at least a years worth of polyjuice, and that's just the beginning!"

Dumbledore flinched as Draco's voice rose in volume – and pitch, though Draco would never admit it- before swinging the cupboard open.

"You have to understand, at the time the war with Voldemort was only brewing. While on one hand, I myself was concerned with the emergence of the Dark Lord, the rest of Hogwarts at least felt secure of the wards. The idea that Voldemort would already be setting his sights onto Hogwarts was unthinkable. At the time he was still gathering his followers, after all."

As he spoke, Dumbledore pulled out his wand, placing the tip to his head before removing a silver memory, and placing it in the pensieve the cupboard had hid. Draco's anger evaporated, replaced with curiosity. He tried not to let his legs carry him toward the cupboard, but soon realized how useless that would be.

Dumbledore smiled sadly, his eyes connecting with Draco's.

"Now, shall we begin?"

* * *

It had lost its punch in second year. It was a simple, infantile word, only two syllables long. And yet, when eyes meet, faces are associated with names and memories, words are exchanged, and passions rise, it's oil on the fire.

Mudblood.

An ugly, primal word.

But for some the word was sacred. It meant something deep, passionate. The word was only ever as dangerous as the venom of it's owner- the rolling, spitting curl of the lips that expressed that unadultured hate of something so under oneself it pains to speak of.

Wizards and witches went to war over it.

All the same, calices grow. The whip that could once tear through skin will prove worthless as thick hide grows to protect the victim. In time, a thicker, harsher whip will be invented, bought, used, but until then, they are safe. But flinching is habit.

Habit. That's what their fighting had become.

He had no sooner seen that thick, unkempt black mop before the words were off his lips and fallen on hard ears.

"If it isn't the wonder trio? Tell me, how's your doggie, Mudbloods?"

Dark, emerald eyes didn't focus.

"Bugger off, Malfoy."

The response was stiff, polished, _practiced_. Automatic. A midless, soulless response, a societal requirement as basic as 'please' or 'thank you.' It should have, would have upset him- if he wasn't guilty of the same.

He let out a huff, his faithful gargoyles waiting for his orders. And all of a sudden, he didn't feel like it.

"Forget it, this is ridiculous. Damn mudbloods, why the bloody hell won't you just get out?"

It was halfhearted, lackluster, and most importantly, pathetic.

It felt like a dementors kiss. _What's the point?_

_What the hell am I doing?_

* * *

**A/N**: Well, it's been seven months since I've updated. I have to apologize to all of you that have been waiting for this next chapter, but rest assured the next won't take nearly as long. Thank god for summer break!

This chapter isn't as long as I had hoped, but I thought I would get something out to tide you guys over. Hopefully this makes some sense! Thank you to all of you that have stuck by me this long, and thanks to my beta for being understanding.


	6. Interlude Part 1: The Stage

**Interlude: Part 1**

_The Stage_

* * *

The alarms came at a price.

The village was never rich to begin with. Every so often, a well to do witch or wizard would parade their way to town, promises like kisses enduring for a better place, a more exciting end for this town between the country and the high life.

It wasn't the people, they'd say, it was the land that always brought them down. Surrounded by nothing on all sides. A forest, filled not with magical wonders, but old-fashioned rabbits and deer of no particular consequence, on one side. On the other, a lake, teeming with fish of all sorts, of the muggle kind of course. It was a travelers town- a place to stop from here to there, but nothing more. A place easily found, a nice place to rest they all said, but just as easily skipped completely. The calm waters and dreamy trails did more to attract stray muggles than anyone else, though the charms embedded in the town's stones kept them from straggling too long.

They had never been a target for anyone, whether it be good or evil intentions. They had never had a reason to fight- they would be the first to admit they had nothing to give. They were willing to lend a hand, but never called to the occasion. It seemed that somewhere along the line, Sundance had been left off the map.

Literally. Whereas Sundance should have been placed between Ramblewood and Junket along Marshall road, there was only the Haymond forest, green in all its glory. Many would have complained, but the artist had done well with the trees- if trees were going to replace the town on the map, they had to be done well. Their tiny leaves moved with a cool spring breeze, changing directions every so often. And so Sundance came to accept the Wizarding World had forgotten about them.

Old man Daughtry was murdered.

Murder wasn't uncommon anywhere- or rather, it wasn't unheard of, and Sundance was no exception. He was a man of no consequence- not good or bad, but there. Or at least, he used to be. He was killed in his chair as he puzzled over last months bills, wondering how he could possibly lost that many galleons, when the Unforgiveable ripped into his chest. A jealous proprietor, an unpaid loaner, or an angered mistress, nobody knew. An auror was requested- none came- and Old Man Daughtry was buried next to the tulips he loved so much.

But then came Jin.

He wasn't from Sundance, nor anywhere near. When one asked the townsfolk, they could never quite agree on where he came from- though the concensus was that it was somewhere colder- but he had a loud voice and a strong chin, so people let him talk. No harm in talking, they'd always say. And when he did talk, they liked his voice enough to agree.

When Jin suggested the alarms, it was met with a sort of acceptance- no one knew if it was necessary, but none were willing to take that chance. The wizarding world had done right to leave them off the map- they were barely considered a wizarding town after all- which meant they had only themselves as protection. They weren't fighters. None had ever come from the town, and that certainly wouldn't change with the times. All they could do was hide.

They hired an auror that was taken off the force years ago- rumors were it was due to bribery- to design the alarm. It was simple, just enough to warn of their arrival in enough time to make it to shelter.

No, they didn't want it to inform the ministry.

No, they didn't want any protective charms.

"What was that? All you want to do is _hide_?"

"That's all we know how to do- dissapear."

The alarms only took a week. They were childsplay, really, no more than a detection spell with a charm to ring a simple alarm, adapted from the muggle air raid siren. It'd do more to alert the intruders than anyone else, but the tired Auror was only too happy to scam a hapless, fatalist village for all they were worth.

Half the town came to a halt.

The brightly colored confetti from weeks ago- once proudly swinging along the sides of houses and shops in the fundraiser for the alarm- lay limp in the streets, brushed aside by one too many brooms. Torn and muddy, the promised high falling into the anguished low.

It had taken all they had- their humble riches, their steady labor. They got their alarm- at the price of their town.

But that would do. They'd never been rich before. Old Sundance had never been one of those big cities, and it never would be. All the townsfolk knew it –though it's argued that this attitude is the cause. You didn't come to Sundance to make it big, or live the quiet life. You came to be the in-between. And so they were. The war dragged on, and the children played along the city gates, laughing with -and at- the alarms that rang as their tattered boots set them off.

* * *

**A/N:** This is more of an experimental chapter, but it will all make sense by the end. These will only come every so often, and always with an additional chapter, so no worries!

Thank you to all my reviewers, you guys keep me going.


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